Parrallel Lines
by DMat
Summary: Bruce Wayne, Harley Quinn, and Ivy are on a quest to the mid-Atlantic, leaving Commissioner Gordon alone to deal with Two-Face, Penguin, and a mysterious third party. Now complete!
1. Storm Clouds

Parallel Lines  
  
Chapter 1: Storm Clouds  
  
So what exactly have you stumbled upon? This is a tale set out of phase with reality and out of context, squarely placed in the future, and although the places and settings have remained the same the characters have changed. So let us presume that we are witnessing a time and place where an industrious author has sorted through the history and explained away all nuances and inconsistencies that this future may provide, and that this same author, in his spare moments while we dared to look away, had exacted something…terrible...  
…  
  
A harsh wind blows across the desolate landscape as a lone warrior prepares for the coming onslaught. Beads of sweat drip down the warrior's flared skin, the light garb providing little protection or insulation from the heat. The sun looms high overhead as a constant reminder of the sole rule of the desert: There is no relief. The warrior pauses.  
  
The desert is not as barren a landscape as many would have you believe. It teems with life, and all it takes is some patience and a little effort to capture these creatures, both plant and animal. However, these organisms call the desert home, whereas the human body does not. A penance is paid for each day in this most harsh of climates, and the warrior knows this. So it is odd that this oh so familiar, and oh so human odour would permeate the warrior's senses, so faint yet so near, beneath the sand…  
  
Three figures rise up to greet the intruder, each wielding a lethal blade. The warrior does not hesitate and strikes the first attacker in the throat with a pointed finger. He falls and sub-comes without a sound. The remaining foes leap in unison, side-by-side, and lash out at the warrior with their flashing blades. Each slash is parried by the stranger, one arm used per assailant to drive the weapons away from the body. The warrior's two arms then take a hold of each enemy's head and drive the two minds to meet with a sickening thud. Neither opponent will rise from the sand again.  
  
The warrior feels the earth begin to move as a strange elevator rises from the sand. Glass doors part and a shrouded figure steps forth to cover the warrior with a damp cloth to sooth his scorched skin while escorting him back to the elevator. The doors close and they begin their journey into the bowels of the earth.  
  
"Excellent!" the warrior whispers in a dialect known only to a select few, "There is still much to prepare, but I am at the ready. The time shall soon be nigh…"  
  
…  
  
Somewhere on the ocean is a small yacht travelling steadily upon its path, its bow bobbing gingerly upwards with each crest, and downwards with the inevitable trough. Greying clouds twist and swirl as a sharp wind dashes ripples upon the once smooth sea. There is a storm coming, one that will sorely test the small craft's buoyancy to its limits, and all have taken shelter within save for one who ponders their predicament. His mind wanders from sunny and calm Caribbean waters the yacht had set sail from to the tempest before them.  
  
What could possess a human spirit to undergo such a quest is a question he poses to himself each day, and each day the answer is the same, his memories just as vivid as ever. A single, violent moment when he was just a child barely out of diapers, strolling home from the theatre with his parents...  
  
He turns away from the sea and stares at his ship and his thoughts shift accordingly to the passengers within as he desperately tries to quell the grisly recollection. Once more the memories are as vivid as life and he can see the faces, recall the names of those his hands have terminated. The laughing face, sneering at all that was decent, at the death of his friends, allies…his son…  
  
"Enough," he mutters. He can't escape his morbid history. There's a storm coming and he must seek shelter.  
  
Reaching the door he twists the knob to open it and is greeted by a grinning face. Her features show pure amusement, with a mischievous glint in her pale blue eyes as her two pig-tails dangling in space as she hangs upside-down before him, still wearing the shorts and shirt she purchased as souvenirs.  
  
"Finally decided to come inside, boss?" she asks in a familiar, bubbly yet squeaky voice as she winks slyly.  
  
"Harley Quinn," he answers with a grin of his own, amused by her sudden appearance, as always. She giggles ever so slightly at his response. She composes herself, "Ivy's waitin' for us. She says she's got a line on Gotham again." She leans forward and ever so gently kisses his forehead, "Tag! You're it!" and she lets go of her perch, falls back down the stairs and twisting mid-air she lands on her feet. With only a quick glance behind her she runs towards the kitchen, and Ivy.  
  
He's still smiling as he wipes his brow of the kiss, and with the same hand feels his lips and the grotesque grin they make. Permanently scarred by the selfsame playful girl, his mouth can now only express one emotion. 'Funny,' he thinks, 'I should hate her, but I just…can't.' And he begins after her.  
  
…  
  
In Gotham City the storm had already hit, bringing with it a bitter chill and dense drizzle only a few weeks from the winter holidays. Everyone hopes for a change in the weather, that the cold remains to convert the rain to sleet then snow for a white Christmas. Thus far it remains to be seen and the present blackness does nothing to raise spirits. Instead the good citizens find themselves walking a little quicker, driving a little faster, and remaining indoors a little longer than normal. It's the kind of weather that only the mad would enjoy, and Gotham is a home to the mad.  
  
Within Arkham's Asylum for the Criminally Insane the residents are a little more agitated than normal. Those deemed extremely high risks are kept behind lock and key as they pace the floor, muttering inaudible blasphemies upon unseen enemies. The others are allowed to roam the designated areas, with each one heavily barred and guarded to prevent any escape. Even within these well insulated areas the inmates could sense the shift in the air and it causes unrest. Some rock back and forth, while others stare blankly at the rain. Some, however, are content to sit back and stare at the insanity around them.  
  
One such man is a rotund little fellow with a long, pointed nose, and if one were to pay careful attention to his face one could also see a crease where a monocle may lay and an impression across the scalp made by a top hat. His hands crossed he sits at his table for two and looks on, muttering now and again at the truly bizarre behaviour, "Waugh! Madness…" So engrossed is he by the sights that he does not notice the large man walking up from behind until his hand is placed upon his shoulder.  
  
The rotund little man turns with a start and looks straight at the face of both the most handsome and most repugnant man he's ever met. "Harvey," the little man remarks, trying to look away from his guest's face. Half its features are unmarred, and the other half show deeply scarred tissue caused by acid hurled at him when he was district attorney of Gotham. The acid did more than simply remove his handsome features, but also the veneer of good that the attorney used in the city's service, replacing it with a bizarre malice and a two headed coin used to determine Two-Face's motives, whether honourable or vile.  
  
Two-Face smiles back as he sits, "Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot! As I live and breathe! What are you doing here? I mean, using birds as your modus operandi wasn't insane; stupid, yes, but not insane. So what brings you here? No, wait, don't tell me! Let me guess! You finally got too…close to your pet birds, eh?  
  
Oswald sneers at his guest, "Harvey, don't provoke me. I didn't come here to be insulted by the likes of you."  
  
Two-Face laughs ever so slightly, "You? You wanted to be put in here? Penguin, have you completely flipped your gourd? Wait, what am I saying? Of course you have!" And he laughs again.  
  
The Penguin leans closer to Harvey Dent, "Yes, I wanted to be put in here. Listen to me Harvey, I faked a psychotic episode at Blackgate so I could get in here..."  
  
"Faked an episode? Yeah, right. Come on, Oswald, you're not an actor, you're a ham," and he giggles, "No, not a ham, a turkey."  
  
"Tell that to the warden," Penguin sneers back, his mood underlining a vicious streak, "and maybe he'll show you the pictures of my handiwork. The amount of blood…I'm surprised myself."  
  
Something in Oswald's voice tells Two-Face that he's being earnest. He quells the light-hearted comedy and asks, in a genuinely intrigued tone, "What did you do?"  
  
"That's for another time Harvey," Oswald smiles back, "The important thing is I'm here, now, because I need your help."  
  
"Help…?"  
  
"He's out there, waiting for us. We're not safe in here, you know that. He can come in here and get us as we sleep, just like that. It was different before, we would have to be at our best to try and get away, or to kill him, and even at our best he'd escape, track us down and lock us away until next we duelled. However, the situation has changed, my comrade. With Joker's demise he has shown us that the stakes are now much higher. We cannot venture forth with our…ahem…extracurricular activities, and we must endure inane therapy sessions for fear of the ultimate reprisal from him. You're an intelligent human being, Harvey. Do you honestly believe he will be content with the Joker's sacrifice now that he has tasted blood? We've all killed before, and know what a slippery slope it is, how much easier it is to murder for the second time, the third, the fourth, until it becomes as rudimentary as brushing one's teeth. No, we are doomed my friend, and I say we must act. It is no longer a game of cops and robbers, but war! Kill, or be killed, and I require your intellect, your connections, your savvy, skill and contempt for human life so that we all may live!"  
  
Two-Face pauses for a second before replying, "You're talking about Batman, aren't you?"  
  
Penguin rolls his eyes skyward in disbelief and gives a mocking, "Yes."  
  
Two-Face briefly scratches his chin as he mulls over the offer. He sneers before answering, "What the hell, I'm in."  
  
"Riddle me this!" a voice hollers at them and both men turn to the side of the table where a lithe, dark haired man stands, his large grin resting comfortably between a pointed chin and large nose, "What two fools rush into a graveyard?"  
  
Penguin sighs heavily as he realizes that this idiot won't leave his sight until he replies, "I don't know, Edward. What two…"  
  
With lightning reflexes Edward smashes his fists onto the skulls of Penguin and Two-Face with a deceptive strength. Each man grabs hold of his ringing head as Edward screams his answer, "A pair of BONEHEADS! This is what you two are going to be if you go after Batman. Mark my words! I'll be laughing at your graves, you idiots! You're both mad, I tell you, stark raving MAD!" Edward continues to scream as he's grabbed by a nearby orderly and dragged away.  
  
"Madness…!" Penguin gasps as his head continues to throb.  
  
"Forget him," Two-Face mutters when the guards are out of earshot, his ears still ringing, "we've got plans to make…"  
  
…  
  
As the evening wears on so does the rain, pushing one young man towards the brink. It's his duty to stand guard outside the brownstone behind him, to ensure the safety of the occupant within. To most members of the Gotham's finest being selected to protect the Commissioner's home is considered a great honour that's only reserved to those with exemplary records. It's usually received as a reward, a normally easy task given to those who've worked hard and deserve a moment's peace, except on nights when psychopaths such as the Joker seek the Commissioner's life, or other nights when the weather rears its ugly side. Tonight falls under the latter, although there is still time for the former.  
  
The officer sighs heavily as his rain drenched body tries to combat the cold that still manages to seep past his layers of cloth covered warmth. He rubs his hands furiously to keep them from going numb, raising them occasionally to blow warm air upon them. It's then that he notices the delivery van pull up and the young courier whom had stepped forth from the vehicle walking towards him. The officer smiles gratefully for the distraction from the cold.  
  
"Got a package here," the courier smiles after briefly directing his eyes to the brown paper covered box, "but I guess no one's home. What happened? Someone axe a family or something?"  
  
"Nah," the officer smiles back, "Don't you know who lives here? This here's the home of Police Commissioner James W. Gordon!"  
  
The courier blinks for a moment, feigning disbelief, "Huh. Still, I need someone to sign for it."  
  
"I'll…" the officer begins, only to hear the click of a gun hammer being pulled back. Both men turn to one side and see a man dressed in pyjamas and a robe standing barefoot in the rain soaked grass. His eyes show steel-like determination behind his glasses, belying each of his many years as evidenced by his white hair on his head and moustache.  
  
"Commissioner?" the officer stammers, noticing the barrel of the revolver was pointed directly at the courier's head.  
  
James Gordon ignores the question and yells, "Put the package gently onto the ground and step back!"  
  
"Look man," the courier stammers, his hands beginning to shake, "Just chill, okay?"  
  
"Son, don't question a man pointing a loaded gun at your head! Now put the package down! Do it!"  
  
"Commissioner?" the officer calls once more.  
  
"I didn't order, and wasn't expecting, a damned box! Okay? Now put the damned thing down and step back!!" Gordon yells even louder.  
  
The courier begins to crouch down…lower…lower…and screams as a fireball bursts through the top of the package, incinerating his face! The officer lunges at the mass of flames and tackles the young man onto the moist lawn, desperately trying to douse the smouldering mass of humanity beneath him. Gordon can only stare as a tiny metallic nozzle pops up from the box's remainders and begins spraying liquid flame at his home. Even in a dense rain the chemical additives ensure a rapid burn.  
  
"Well, Gordo," a voice calls forth from the box. Gordon can scarcely believe his ears and blinks in disbelief. Dumbfounded, he simply stands there and listens as box and home continue to burn, "You and Batsy certainly showed me a hot time in the manor, so I thought it was only fair for me to return the favour. See you round, buddy." And the laugh that followed sent a chill down his spine, causing him to fall to his knees as the flames grow higher.  
  
"But the Joker," Gordon whispers hoarsely, "the Joker is dead…"  
  
TO BE CONTINUED…  
  
Hi there, and thanks for reading the first chapter of this story.  
  
This tale is set as a sequel to "Faces and Names" and its own prequel, "Wonderland." Below is a brief summary of "Wonderland" and "Faces and Names"; please read it at your leisure. Future chapters to "Parallel Lines" will be provided with a brief description of the events that have preceded it. Feel free to review, critique, belittle…or to simply let me know if there's anything I've forgotten, flubbed or finagled.  
  
Summary of Wonderland:  
  
The Mad Hatter, Tweedledee and Tweedledum recruit a helper in a seedy Gotham bar by inciting a brawl among the patrons via mind control. The helper, dubbed Walrus, has a small electronic device implanted in his skull to put him completely under the Hatter's sway, and to also boost the adrenaline output of his body, making him stronger, faster, etc…. They then gather the Carpenter, who is an actual carpenter they had kidnapped, and commandeer a radio station. The Hatter has already drugged the city's water supply and uses a large device to broadcast a signal across Gotham to set the drugged population under his control. Plugging in the Carpenter provides the citizens with the skill needed to perform the monumental task of remodelling Gotham into the Hatter's vision of Wonderland. With his fantasy about to become reality the Hatter is overjoyed, until Batman appears. He severs the hook-up between the Carpenter and his device, and makes short work of Dee and Dum. The Walrus is more difficult to stop, but he manages to trap him by dangling him over the side of the station's roof. During the melee the Hatter escapes, with the Walrus soon following suit…  
  
Faces and Names Summary:  
  
So, this is going to take some condensing. Joker escapes from Arkham and Batman seeks him like a man possessed, causing a near panic/riot among Gothamites. Gordon manages to quell the panic, but is subsequently kidnapped by the Joker. The Joker wants Gordon to give his best guess at who Batman is under the mask.  
  
A clue arrives at Police Headquarters for the Batman, one that only Bruce Wayne could answer if he were the man under the mask. The clue prompts Batman to crime alley, and then to Gordon's prison, where he arrives in the nick of time. From the darkness Joker fires a Tommy gun, killing what turns out to be a Joker decoy and wounding Batman. Gordon then battles the Batman while Joker slinks away as Gordon is being controlled by a device of the Hatter's making. Batman frees Gordon by removing the hat, but not before Gordon suffers severe injury. As Batman leaves Gordon manages a, "This is war," with regards to the Joker. Batman then goes after Joker, makes it through his gauntlet and takes aim with Alfred's old revolver. He shoots the Joker just before the building starts to collapse, and although no one else knows for sure, the mad clown manages to get away…  
  
Some nights later vigilante slayings begin to occur throughout Gotham with all signs pointing to Batman. Gordon, almost healed save for his mangled right arm, discovers the gun Batman had that night in the Joker's warehouse, while Bullock begins gathering other evidence. Gordon confronts Bruce Wayne about the night at Joker's now collapsed lair. Bruce confesses everything but claims his innocence, stating Batman was under the Hatter's device's spell, having to use it as an edge to bypass the Joker's gauntlet (remember the faster, stronger, etc. part of Wonderland). That, coupled with an order from Gordon that "This is war" sent Batman over the edge. Gordon suspects there is more going on than Bruce is willing to say and puts Bruce under house arrest.  
  
Meantime Harley Quinn convinces a reformed Ivy to spring her from Arkham so she could pay her final respects to Mr. J. Once there, however, Harley tries digging Joker out of his collapsed hideaway, only to get shot through the back for her trouble by the vigilante killer. She's rushed to hospital. The same night Joker's old psychiatrist Dr. Marcus is also slain by the same killer.  
  
Bullock confronts Gordon with the evidence. Gordon remains unconvinced as the question looms, "Why would he kill a psychologist? Harley, pushers, gang bangers, okay, that fits, but a shrink?" Bullock does some checking on Dr. Marcus and finds each quarry already questioned by a Det. MacMurtney, "But there's no MacMurtney on the force!" Bullock gives Gordon what he managed to find and Gordon finds a secret message within each clue left by MacMurtney, revealing that MacMurtney is in fact Bruce Wayne. Bruce is trying to explain his plans to his only true friend with a simple anagram for "My turn caMe." Gordon rushes to Wayne Manor and is made prisoner by the Batman.  
  
Meanwhile, hearing of Harley's predicament incites the once reformed Ivy to escape and she immediately hunts for Gordon as a means to get to the Batman (the perceived vigilante killer in the media). She tracks him to Wayne Manor and traps both Batman and Gordon, but is then shot from behind by another, much happier, Batman. Guess who? Bruce detonates Wayne Manor with incendiary devices, burning Ivy's plant bonds and he fights the Joker/Batman, unsuccessfully. Seems Joker also got the idea to use the Hatter's device to boost his own strength, speed, tolerance to pain etc. Gordon urges Bruce to save Ivy's life as he covers them, "Promise me!" He does. Gordon holds the Joker at bay with his gun, getting the Joker to confess to everything before using his final shot to bring the weakened manor ceiling down upon them.  
  
Joker saves Gordon and uses him as a hostage to get an explanation from Batman as to why he has such a recent fatal hatred for the clown. Batman gives the truth as he buys some time, explaining that Joker's stunt on the bridge nearly two years ago, obliterating it with the Human Bomb, took the lives of two of his trusted friends; and his stunt in the school with the Walrus (on "permanent loan" to the Joker) fatally wounded another. Then, Batman was forced to pull-the-plug on the fatally wounded friend and he fell into utter despair, prompting him to set a final suicidal plan in motion. So Bruce had his most hated enemy goaded into escape by Dr. Marcus, an accomplice of Bruce's that Joker later killed. Batman and Joker were set on a collision course of Bruce's design, one that would lead to mutual destruction. Bruce then strikes, shoving the Joker back into a wild set of vines Ivy had grown before passing out. Bruce could kill him, but doesn't. Restrained, the Joker goads Batman, telling him one of his slain "Batman Family" was expecting when she died. Enraged, Batman removes the Hatter's device from Joker's cowl and smashes it. His last link to life severed, the Joker dies and Bruce escapes into the night with Ivy.  
  
Bruce later frees a miraculously cured Harley so she could donate blood to save Ivy. Once Ivy is safe Bruce leaves himself open for Harley's revenge, but she's unable to kill him. Instead she cleaves Bruce's cheeks, leaving a scar that resembles a hideous grin. Satisfied her need for vengeance has been sated Bruce explains that he promised to keep Ivy safe, and will take her away from Gotham to do so, and that Harley is welcome to join them. She accepts, after all, "How can I say no to such a…enchanting smile…"  
  
That's it for the summaries, now onto chapter 2… 


	2. New Dawn

Chapter 2: New Dawn  
  
The Story Thus Far: Bruce, Harley and Ivy are sailing into a storm in the mid-Atlantic; Penguin contacts Two-Face in Arkham and they begin to plan something unpleasant for Batman shortly after the Riddler's interruption; Gordon's home is the victim of arson by a package seemingly sent by the Joker!  
…  
Fire is a curious thing, capable of providing the warmth necessary for survival on those frigid nights, is the method of preparing an edible sustenance, and is an incredible light show that leaves us in wonder. Unchecked, it provides nothing more than pain and misery. Ask those brave men who battle the blaze and they can tell you how fire can ruin lives and bring even the heartiest of us to our knees. Such was the case tonight when they arrived to a well known brownstone, home to the Gotham City Police Commissioner. Despite a heavy rain it was burning from the OUTSIDE! Their first instinct, to set their hoses upon it, was met with the same success as the rain. Only now have they resorted to the old standby of letting the blaze burn itself out while ensuring it does not spread. They cannot even use sand as a stopgap solution as the rain would turn it to mud.  
  
From his vantage point inside a police cruiser the Commissioner can only stare through a rain mottled windshield as his memories, his very life, go up in a puff of smoke. It's at that moment, as the roof collapses, that Detective Harvey Bullock decides to enter the cruiser through the front. The Commissioner turns and stares at the unmade bed that is his most trusted detective and Bullock smiles through the barrier between the seats.  
  
"Hey Commish, how ya' feeling?" Bullock asks in his typical manner. There is no reply.  
  
"Look, if ya' need a place to stay…"  
  
"I'm staying in my office," Gordon mutters back.  
  
"Come on, Commish. I'm sure the Mayor wouldn't…"  
  
"I'm staying in my office! And you, you and Allen are going to find out who did this!"  
  
"Come on!" Bullock barks back, "I know you want me to train Joe after you promoted him, but I'm better off doing this case on my own. You know I work better on my own! If you want results…"  
  
"You AND Allen are going to do this case together," Gordon answers back, his eyes showing a fire Bullock's rarely seen, "Understood? You AND Allen are going to investigate; you AND Allen are going to report directly to me; you AND Allen are going to bring me the man responsible for this on a silver platter! Is that clear?!"  
  
Bullock nods before replying, "But the kid guarding your place heard the voice, and he heard you mutter 'Joker.' If it is the Joker…"  
  
"It's not the Joker," Gordon replies with a deadpan stare.  
  
"I know, I know. I'm just saying that if it's him…"  
  
"It's not the Joker," Gordon interrupts with another deadpan remark, "The Joker's dead. I killed him. You know that, I know that, the whole damned city knows that! You're looking for someone else, got me? Now get out of my sight!"  
  
With that Bullock exits the cruiser and slams the door behind him. He breathes a deep sigh before turning away and mumbling, "Well that went better than expected." He removes a small piece of candy from his pocket and pops it into his mouth before walking away.  
  
'Why do I get the feeling that this is just the tip of the iceberg,' he ponders solemnly, 'and that we're all on the Titanic?'  
  
…  
  
As daylight breaks through Venetian blinds to chase away the night that was he scarcely moves in its recognition. All about him are mementos to his past and present in the guise of photographs, badges of honour and respect, and nary one means as much to him as the two pictures in his hands. He's spent the better part of the night simply sitting here and staring at the faces, remembering times both good and bad. "How many more…?" he wonders out loud, a lump in his throat, "How many…?"  
  
There's a gentle knock at his door and he peers with bloodshot eyes at the silhouette through the pane. Recognizing the rotund image he places the two photos on his desk and sighs, "Come in."  
  
Detective Bullock opens the door in an uncharacteristically gentle manner and closes it just as silently behind him. He smiles only briefly before noticing the ruffled hair and clothes on the man before him, the slight tilt of his glasses above a haggard white moustache magnifying baggy, red eyes. For Bullock his untidiness is a trademark, something he's actually proud of, but to see the Commissioner in such a state, a man he admires and respects, sends a chill down his spine. Bullock motions and Commissioner Gordon nods, leaving Bullock enough room to sit adjacent to him on the tiny couch beside his office desk.  
  
"Where's Allen?" Gordon asks quietly.  
  
"I got him to try and chase down a few leads with the courier," Bullock replies softly, "He's an okay cop, but I still don't like being paired with him. You know I'm more effective on my own..."  
  
"I know, Harvey, I know," Gordon whispers, a far cry from the hell he was raising last night as he watched his home burn to the ground, "No one should have another human being die in their arms, especially a partner, or…" He can't finish the sentence.  
  
Bullock looks down at his hat for a moment before continuing, "The rest of the stuff the lab's looking at, maybe they'll find something. Unfortunately the tape in the box was roasted…you sure it was the Joker's voice?"  
  
Gordon sneers as he looks at one of the photos on his desk, "Positive."  
  
Harvey takes a glance at the image as well. "Your daughter, right?" he remarks as he notes the bright red hair, blue eyes and cheerful smile, "You know that's a wonderful picture of her. She lit up the place whenever she was in here. I remember once, she…" Bullock pauses. Not wanting to continue he changes focus to the other photo, "Your ex and little Jimmy. Family's very important to you, isn't it Commish?"  
  
Maybe his weariness has finally worn off, or he's just sick of Bullock's presence, but Gordon's finally realizes Bullock hasn't come in here for a pep talk, "What the hell do you want, detective? What are you driving at?"  
  
Bullock manages a half-hearted smile, happy to see new life in the Commissioner's eyes, "Just this, you went to bat for the caped freak, 'scuse the pun, and he ain't nowhere to be seen. Sure there's been freak sightings these past couple of weeks, but I've caught a glimpse, I've made foot casts, it ain't him. He busts out our prime suspect, Harley Quinn, and amscrays to God knows where, and a couple of weeks later you get a hot package with the Joker's voice. What does that tell you?"  
  
The Commissioner can only give a blank stare.  
  
"You know what really went down at Wayne Manor, Commish. I don't. No one else does. You said it was over, but you lied, and here you are still covering for the freak. I BELIEVED you Jim, I LET it slide," Bullock sighs heavily as he gets up. Sliding on his ruffled fedora he turns to the Commissioner one last time, "You're loyal, Commish, you treat this mook like family. Don't get me wrong, it's a great trait. If it weren't for your loyalty a cop like me, with a record a mile long, wouldn't have gotten a second chance. But here I am, your go to guy. I appreciate that, I really do, and I'm telling you now, as your friend, you've got to drop the Bat. He's not family, not anymore. You don't owe him anything anymore." His impassionate plea met with utter silence, Bullock can only shrug his shoulders, "For your own good Jimmy, I'm not going to let this slide anymore," and he exits the room as gently as he had entered.  
  
It takes but a moment for Gordon to gently tap the side of his desk, signalling the all's clear to the slender, young creature that hid within its crevice. Dressed in sheer black, with a billowing cape draping over supple, yet deceptively powerful shoulders, and long pointed ears protruding from an ebony-like cowl, she stands like a wraith in the brightly lit room sucking all attention towards her. Noting the change in time she removes the cape and cowl to reveal a naturally beautiful face of Asian decent, rich black hair and deep blue eyes.  
  
"I thought bats shunned daylight," Gordon smiles, "How are you going to get out of here?"  
  
In response the girl twirls the cape round and wraps it around her body. Gordon could see buttons, pockets and a lapel, the start of a trench-coat. He smiles again, "Reversible. Nice. I'm glad you came by Cassandra. After all, Barbara helped raise you, we're like family."  
  
She merely nods in response as she dresses for her escape.  
  
"Bullock's a good man," Gordon utters, "but when it comes to Batman he's like a broken record that plays the same song over and over." Turning towards the window he takes a peek outside, "And may the Lord help me if I don't think he's right sometimes."  
  
Though her ability to speak is severely limited she struggles through the effort and manages a single word, "True?"  
  
Now its Gordon's turn to sigh, "I don't know…maybe? If you've got some time take a chair and let me tell you what I know…after all, if anyone deserves the truth, you do…"  
  
She smiles. Of course she has time; she has an entire day before nightfall.  
  
…  
  
Harvey Bullock is fuming as he returns to his dingy office and runs into Detective Joe Allen just as he's about to sit down in his plush, economy priced chair. He asks Allen if the investigation of the courier company had turned anything up.  
  
"Nothing really, it seems," Allen sheepishly remarks as he whips out a notebook from a coat pocket, "Have a read."  
  
As Bullock takes the tiny book in hand he manages a glance at Allen's coat and notices the tiny, metallic coil of another notebook. As Bullock begins to peruse the book Allen had handed him he sneers, noticing that it's near new and virtually empty. 'Either I've got serious double vision, or my new partner's trying hog the glory,' the veteran detective ponders, 'or worse…'  
  
"That's some nice work Joe," Bullock applauds as he returns the book, "I think you should follow up on it."  
  
"Thanks," Allen whispers, "but it seems to me we should head over to Arkham instead. I just heard the APB coming in; it seems that the Penguin and Two-Face escaped last night…"  
  
…  
  
"Sheathes of green envelope this entire area," a gruff voice whispers to his comrade. Two-Face outstretches his arms and inhales deeply, "A beautiful place, don't you think? Spending time in here could cleanse the soul. It's no wonder Ivy took such good care of it…"  
  
"Spare me the accolades, my bifurcated ally," the Penguin chortles as he waddles across a sparser part of the Asylum's garden. Pausing briefly he notices a southern Jay land upon the bird bath and grins, "Granted it is not without its charm, but I still find it unsettling to be trudging through a summer garden in mid-December!"  
  
"And I find it odd that the inmates are still allowed to roam free," Two-Face counters, his breaths visible in the cool night air, "But Ivy has her bizarre green thumb, and Dr. Arkham has his bizarre concepts of therapy. Who are we to look a gift horse in the mouth?"  
  
"I still fail to see how this will provide us with a means of egress, unless you suggest we strip the bark bare and construct a set of steps to climb out?" the Penguin smiles bemusedly as Two-Face saunters over to a more secluded portion of the garden. Spying a particular vine which contains but a single leaf he leans over and gives it a slight caress with his index finger. Like magic the leaf begins to expand in girth until its tip touched the ground and folds crossed over the stone barricade of the Asylum walls. The Penguin stands stunned, "That is…by far…the most incredible thing I have ever witnessed! But why would she?"  
  
"We used to date," Two-Face remarks haphazardly as he grabs hold and begins to climb, "And given her…toxic demeanour at the time, she felt she owed me."  
  
"Ah," and the cagey bird soon follows suit, his newfound pet Jay in tow.  
  
…  
  
Upon the ocean a peaceful calm has arrived, replacing the once howling winds and cold sheet of rain that poured down. Waters that once churned and heaved vigorously have now settled into their comfortable routine of ups and downs. To a seasoned sailor this would be considered weather worthy of rest and reprieve, a lull of tedium. Within the control room of a certain battered yacht the change in weather is met with minute beeps and blinking lights as the computer navigation system, the only crew member aboard, readjusts its course and speed after lying idle during the hectic storm.  
  
There are three passengers onboard, but only one can be found on the deck this late in the evening. Even with only the moonlight to guide you it is possible to tell that she is a woman unlike any other. Her shape and tone would send any man's heart into a heated seizure, and her deep red, flowing hair would only add fuel to that fire. Her fair skin is garbed against the cool night air in a robust green coat, her favourite colour. As she stands there she arcs her head, allowing the moonlight to shimmer across her face, revealing to any secreted observer ruby read lips and green eyes both mischievous and determined, the kind that seem to beckon regardless of the situation. As she closes them it becomes obvious she is straining her senses, as if desperately trying to hear something. She smiles, until another passenger makes their presence felt with an almost forced sudden footfall, suggesting they wished to be heard.  
  
The red haired woman doesn't even move at the sound and merely produces a sly grin, "How long have you been standing there?"  
  
"Long enough, Ms. Isley," he answers. Even in the dark his scarred face is evident, it's once handsome features forever changed into a garish grin.  
  
"I thought you were working in the lab, Mr. Wayne," Ivy remarks, her eyes still closed, "I've managed to follow them a bit. They've escaped from Arkham."  
  
"Good. Just make sure you're not found out. I still don't trust this power of…" There's a sudden call from above deck as the third member of the party leaps down from a single mast, landing with nary a sound and a triumphant, "Ta-da!" breaking Ivy's concentration.  
  
"There ain't another boat in sight boss," she coos, placing both hands behind her back and standing on tip-toe before Bruce Wayne, a big grin on her face. She begins to nod her head, still grinning, blonde pig-tails bobbing in the air as she asks, "So can we turn in now?"  
  
"I called the bed tonight," Ivy joins in, recovering from the sudden jolt.  
  
"Nuh-uh!" Harley retorts, "It's mine! You got to use it during the storm!"  
  
"That wasn't part of the deal, Harley," Ivy counters, "It's mine!"  
  
"It's mine," Harley calls, then blowing Ivy a raspberry, "So there!"  
  
"Why you…!" Ivy growls.  
  
"Why don't you just share the bed tonight?" a beleaguered Bruce asks. He's just not used to these kinds of situations. Neither woman appreciates his suggestion however, prompting both to provide a cold glance that would freeze the most violent pit of hell. He sheepishly puts his arms up in surrender and backs away, "I'm…I'm going to sleep in the control room."  
  
"I'll take the couch," whispers Ivy once she's satisfied Bruce Wayne is out of earshot.  
  
Harley merely nods in appreciation and begins to make her way inside. She's halfway to the portal before realizing that Ivy hasn't budged, and in fact is continuing to stare towards the control center.  
  
"Aren't you coming, Red? It's not often the boss gives us a full night's rest," she calls cheerfully with only the slightest hint of concern in her voice.  
  
Ivy shivers only slightly, as if reviving from a daze, "What? Yes…I'll be there shortly…"  
  
"You're worried about him, aren't you?" Harley prods.  
  
"Nothing we've tried seems to work," she whispers, "Nothing's shocked him out of it. He's just some kind of robot going through the motions of being alive. It's like he's given up…"  
  
"Offhand I'd say he's suffered through several serious and traumatic emotional episodes and is currently repressing his need for emotion and human contact less he's hurt once again, and for what may be the final time. Still, he has invited you and me onboard his quest which would suggest that at the subconscious level he's identified the problem and is trying to rectify it by forcing close contact with his fellow homo sapiens," Harley huffs and puffs for a moment, mimicking a gasp for air after spewing a mouthful of psychobabble as Ivy stands in stunned silence. Harley then points a finger to her forehead and grins wildly, "In other words, his brain's busted and he's slapped a band-aid on and's waitin' for it ta be fixed! HA!" She slaps Ivy's shoulder, "And they think I'm just another pretty face! The only thing I can't figure out is why you're willing to be dragged around by him. It just isn't typical superhero/supervillian etiquette!"  
  
Ivy seems lost for an answer for a moment but manages to find one soon enough, "He saved my life, I owe him."  
  
"That's it?" Harley asks, her grin seeming to grow with each syllable.  
  
"That's it."  
  
"Then you won't mind if I take him?" Harley giggles like a playful schoolgirl, her eyes bright and opened wide.  
  
"What?"  
  
Harley's voice is light and airy as she answers, her body dancing around on tiptoes to accentuate the effect, "Oh sure he offed Mr. J, but if Mr. J had to go he wouldn't have it happen any other way. Bats and puddin' in a big, bad final dukeroo…that's the stuff of legend. Besides, I don't know what it is, that swagger in his step or jolly grin on his lips, but he's irresistible!" She comes to a dead stop and turns towards the control center as she continues in a voice as cold as the night air, "And someday…someday soon, I'm going to show him just HOW MUCH he means to me…"  
  
A slight chill came across Ivy's back at that moment. She didn't like the way that sounded…  
  
TO BE CONTINUED… 


	3. Into the Depths

Chapter 3: Into the Depths  
  
The Story Thus Far: Bullock suspects Det. Allen is holding back in their investigation of the firebombing of Commissioner Gordon's home; Gordon has a call from Cassandra Cain/Batgirl; Two-Face and Penguin escape from Arkham with some help from Ivy's garden; Ivy continues to monitor Two-Face and Penguin for Bruce Wayne while expressing concern at Bruce's detached behaviour; Harley mentions her feelings for Bruce as she coldly states how "someday soon, I'm going to show him just HOW MUCH he means to me…"  
…  
It's a fitful night's rest for the red and green duo of Harley and Ivy onboard the Wayne yacht Somnambulist. Neither can quite pin the cause for the unrest. Perhaps it is the continued sound of lapping waves being cut across by the ship's hull, or the continued bobbing motion, or the thought that this ship is completely under robotic control and that a single short circuit could cause them to vanish from the face of the earth. Or maybe it's that feeling, that creepy sensation that haunts most insomniacs, of a presence nearby, no, not just nearby, but all around. A million eyes staring in silence…  
  
Ivy awakens with a start and turns towards the porthole. Greeting her is one of those eyes and she gasps.  
  
"It's just a fish," a deep, calm voice calls. She turns towards it and is startled by the presence of her host, Bruce Wayne, captain of industry, complete with handsome features save for a scar on either cheek that creates a permanent grin effect.  
  
Shaking her head briefly to regain her composure she grows angry, "And how long have you been standing there?"  
  
Bruce puts a finger to his lips to ask for silence as he points towards a slumbering Harley Quinn on the bed. He then offers his hand to Ivy and they are soon walking towards the ship's nerve center, a glass covered room allowing complete exterior visibility. Ivy is stunned at the sight. Last night this ship was above land and the sky was the limit. Now she is greeted by an underwater wonderland of the exotic and magnificent. A school of fish swims across the bow as she gazes.  
  
"I submerged the ship last night," Bruce begins, "We're almost to our destination and we can't afford to be spotted. Not yet anyway."  
  
"Spotted? Who…?" Ivy asks, still amazed by the sights before her. Bruce remains silent, and of course Ivy is unable to read his thoughts on the matter, her emotion blinding her.  
  
"You and Harley have been good companions, Ivy," and she turns, surprised he'd even admit that much, "But from here on the situation will change, it will become…dangerous. You can stay onboard if you want and I'll have another ship rendezvous to take you back…"  
  
Ivy smiles, slightly confused, "What about Harley?"  
  
"Harley's a part of this, whether she realizes it or not."  
  
Bruce's curt reply does nothing to clear the air and Ivy shakes her head, "I don't understand."  
  
Bruce Wayne's eyes become cold and distant as his voice changes into a gravel like monotony that was all too familiar to Gotham's night life, "You're familiar of the night Joker shot Harley. The police, ambulance and hospital staff kept her heart beating, forcing her to live, but just barely. She was touch and go, and shortly after she was placed into the intensive care ward her heart gave out and she…she was dead."  
  
"Impossible! She…"  
  
"I've seen the report," Bruce interjects, "The doctors ordered her body picked up and prepped for burial. Only, when the orderly came by a half hour later with a gurney he found her sitting up in bed, alive and well, her wound apparently completely healed. I don't believe in miracles, Ivy."  
  
"You think I…?"  
  
Bruce shakes his head, "No. You've gained some power since last we've tangled, but I don't believe resurrection is in your repertoire. No, I'm pretty sure I know who orchestrated this, and on how, but what I don't know is why. It's almost like a calling card, you understand, a factor traceable in the bloodstream, like the spores that keep you immune from poisons. It's as if they were calling me out, and I don't like it. Harley's staying with me until I find out what this is all about."  
  
"Keep your friends close and your enemies even closer," Ivy whispers, "Is that what all this is about?"  
  
Bruce's stare becomes near unbearable, "I don't trust anyone, Ivy, least of all myself."  
  
"If you tell me who's responsible…"  
  
But her plea is cut short as they collectively hear Harley's scream from the bedroom. She's just discovered her new finny friends.  
  
…  
  
"In some places you go, you just get the feeling that you don't belong. That good and decent people are unwanted as the huddled masses move about in aimless wandering, and outsiders are shunned for no other reason than they represent an unwelcome alternative, leading away from the continuous doldrums into the schism of night and day, of what might be and can be. This is such a place."  
  
"That's downright eloquent Joe," the gruff voice of Det. Harvey Bullock interjects. They flash their badges and are allowed entry into the room of one of the patients, once occupied it now sits tossed and bare. They set on their task of searching for a clue to shed some light on any future schemes by one of Gotham's most dangerous psychopaths.  
  
"The police were here earlier," a voice calls from behind, its tone smooth as silk, "I doubt you'll find anything."  
  
"Dr. Arkham," Harvey pauses. He turns to speak to the doctor as Det. Allen continues his search, "This is your nuthouse so maybe you could answer a few of our questions."  
  
"I've already spoken to several detectives," Dr. Jeremiah Arkham replies coyly, "And I would thank you to not call the asylum a 'nuthouse.' We cure mental illness, and YOU of all people should respect that."  
  
Bullock bites his tongue and tries to ask a question instead, "Did Two-Face…"  
  
"As I've said, I do not know where Harvey Dent is, or what he may have planned. Nor do I know where Oswald Cobblepot is, or what he has planned. Can you leave now?" Dr. Arkham finishes, his tone growing in frustration.  
  
"That's not what I wanted to know," Bullock tersely replies through clenched teeth, "What I was going to ask, before you butted in, was if Mr. Half and Half spoke of the Commissioner at all?"  
  
Dr. Arkham's eyes light up briefly, "What? Gordon? Sometimes he did…why?"  
  
"How did he feel about the Commissioner?"  
  
"Not that well, I'm afraid. It's true he did hold the Commissioner in high regard, but since their last encounter Harvey's attitude has changed dramatically. I'd almost say he hates the Commissioner. I don't know what passed between the two of them, but whatever it was, it must have been fierce," Dr. Arkham answers as he rubs his scalp.  
  
"Thanks doc," Bullock replies with more relief than anything, "That's all I need. We'll be out of your hair now, so why don't you go scare up some work or something, we'll show ourselves out."  
  
Dr. Arkham leaves in a huff and once he's out of sight Bullock turns towards Det. Allen who continues to search, "Find anything?"  
  
"Seems not," Allen mutters, stopping his search. As he rises up Bullock could make out just the tip of a piece of paper jutting from one of Allen's trench coat pockets. He pretends to ignore it, "Let's get going."  
  
"Aren't we going to search the Penguin's room?" Allen counters. Bullock shrugs his shoulders in reply, "The birdman was only in for a couple of days, so what's he going to do? Write his master plan out for us? Besides, the others have already ransacked it by now and all I really wanted was a chat with Jeremiah."  
  
As they walk out they pass several other cells, each door etched with the name of its occupant. Bullock abruptly stops at one that rings a familiar bell. He opens the observation window in the door and peers inside, "Hey whacko! Hey! Are you in there?"  
  
A grinning fool jumps forth, trapped in a strait jacket with only his black hair and round, mad eyes visible, "If it isn't the fat arm of the law! Have you come for the Tuesday night special?" the rogue winks with a grin. "This week is meatloaf, but you must answer the riddle if you want me to share!"  
  
"Where's Two-Face gone?" Bullock yells, in no mood for games.  
  
"Tut-tut! I am the quizmaster here!" the Riddler rebuffs Bullock, "Now where was I? Oh yes! When is a man dead on, but not what he appears to be? Answer that and you'll know all!"  
  
"Is it about Two-Face?"  
  
The Riddler only laughs, forcing Bullock to slam the window shut in disgust, "Whack job."  
  
As they reach the steps leading to the main gate Bullock pauses to light a cigar. As the fine roll begins to burn he inhales deeply and exhales a short puff of smoke, "Tell me Allen, you ever run into Two-Face?"  
  
"Nah," is his only response.  
  
"Be glad for small mercies," he concludes with another puff of smoke. Looking towards the lush mid-December garden, the source of escape, Bullock takes his still smouldering match and tosses it at the green. The recent rain has made the plants too moist to ignite and Bullock sighs as they move towards the car.  
  
'You're a liar, Allen,' he muses silently to himself, 'That puts you on a very slippery slope, and I'm going to shove you off the edge…'  
  
TO BE CONTINUED… 


	4. Double Takes

Chapter 4: Double Takes  
  
The Story Thus Far: Bruce submerges his yacht so that he, Ivy and Harley can reach their goal undetected; Bruce explains to Ivy that Harley had died when the Joker shot her those weeks ago, and that she was brought back to life by one of his enemies, but he doesn't know why; Allen and Bullock make it to Arkham Asylum and learn from Dr. Jeremiah Arkham that Two-Face had a grudge with the Commissioner; Allen apparently discovers a clue, but doesn't share. Bullock realizes this but keeps quiet, content that he could bust Allen pretty much anytime he wants…  
…  
Gotham City Police Headquarters, a building that once, ages ago, was merely two stories tall and occupied a single, small city corner. Over time it has metamorphosised into a behemoth complex, engulfing its original brethren into a shimmering glass construct that occupies an entire city block. A veritable maze within, it is a hub of activity that underscores the seamier aspect of city living. One sometimes has to wonder how an active security detail can distinguish between those who belong and those who don't. Then again, why would anyone wish to break into such a place?  
  
Although modernized with computer databases on all information the department would require, some records are continually kept in paper file folders in a quaint little area called 'the morgue,' a precaution to ensure the information can survive beyond any cataclysm. While it isn't uncommon for such rooms to exist, what is odd is to find anyone actually down there, rummaging through the files, as is the case currently. A single file drawer is open and the culprit, though garbed in policeman's blue, is definitely not a member of Gotham's finest. In fact, if anyone dared venture forth to take a glance at the intruder's features, they'd find his facial features are more monster than man. With a tiny light held between its teeth it grins with glee at having found what it required. Making a quick mental note of the information it sought, the thief gently shuts the file drawer, turns left and right to ensure it is unobserved and exits into the shadows.  
  
…  
  
The Somnambulist, a wondrous craft just as capable of cutting across the waves as it is of swimming steadily beneath them. Developed by Waynetech industries as a prototype military vehicle, and later as pleasure craft for the rich and idle, its development was halted and the prototype 'lost' like so many other projects before it. Some would say that if it were the work of one man, over time he would have amassed one of the most powerful and bizarre armouries in military history. The Somnambulist, contrary to its name, appears to be resting gently near the oceans bottom a few hundred meters from sandy shores. The only hint of activity comes from a thin stream of bubbles that seem to lead away from the slumbering craft to the moonlit shoreline.  
  
The peaceful still of night is soon broken by the appearance of three dark clad figures rising up from the depths. Each one is dressed in complete scuba attire and steadily makes their way towards dry land, hoping that the cover of night has screened their arrival. The scuba equipment is removed, revealing the exhausted features of Bruce Wayne, Ivy and Harley Quinn. Bruce then opens a watertight satchel and removes some dry clothes for each of them.  
  
"What are we supposed to do with the equipment?" Harley asks as she takes her bundle.  
  
"Leave it," is his only response.  
  
"But we'll be found out by whoever it is we're trying to surprise," she retorts, crossing her arms in anger, "What the heck's the point of getting up at 3 am and swimmin' to shore if you're just gonna' give away the surprise? And another thing, why can't I wear the old costume? I just don't feel the same without it, and this skin-tight black stuff just doesn't do a thing for me. Where's the colour? I know black is your thing, but at least you let bird boy liven things up with his…"  
  
"Don't!" Bruce growls at her through clenched teeth, his eyes radiating fire, "Don't DARE mention him, or any of them, again! Understand?"  
  
Harley's eyes grow round with fear and she tries to swallow as she humbly nods in compliance. Bruce finishes dressing all in black, save for the conspicuous multi-pocketed, yellow belt around his waist. He then unfurls a latex mask and slips it upon his head, covering his scarred visage with one that is complete and handsome and his own. He adjusts the mask, making sure to hide any furls that may give it away.  
  
"I hate that thing," Harley whispers at him, "You've got such a lovely smile, why'd you want to hide it? Mr. J never…"  
  
Harley's greeted by another look that tells her to either stop talking or to change the subject. She obliges, "so how are we gonna' get back to the sub without our gear, boss?"  
  
As Bruce answers Ivy's focus shifts. She'd been scanning the area with her mind, searching for anything out of place, and now, as if from nowhere it comes. Instantly gauging its intent she lunges at Harley, tackling her to the ground as a shimmering blade misses Harley's blonde locks by mere inches. In a single fluid motion the attacker twirls the long blade around, lifting it high and swinging it down at the prone forms before him, but it does not make it to its intended target. A loud clang is heard as steel smashes into steel, the assassin's blade and Bruce's scuba tank. The assassin rears his head upwards to meet Bruce face-to-face, and is met with a crushing punch to the nose, courtesy of Bruce's free hand. The assassin reels but does not fall, using the blade as a prop to hold himself up, embedding it deep into the sand. A quick shake to remove the cobwebs and he turns and runs.  
  
"While I'm all for a romp in the sand, you just ain't my type, Red," Harley coos as Ivy helps her up, "Why don't ya just warn me next time, 'kay?"  
  
Ivy manages a half-hearted grin before looking at Bruce and asking, "What was that about?"  
  
Bruce ignores the question and makes his way to where the attacker had momentarily fallen. Spotting something he bends down and retrieves it. The girls are soon looking at the bizarre object in his palm.  
  
"What is it?" Ivy asks over his left shoulder.  
  
"A warning," Bruce whispers solemnly.  
  
"A warning…? From that guy…?" Harley questions over his right shoulder with an incredulous look on her face. She smacks her forehead, "He nearly lowers my IQ to zero and you call that stupid miniature goat's skull with antlers he dropped a warning? Was your oxygen tank working?"  
  
"It's not just a miniature skull," Bruce continues, "It's a head, a demon's head."  
  
There is silence for a moment before Harley pipes up, "Mighty small demon."  
  
…  
  
Most know that nothing is static, that we all face a life in a constant state of flux. Few things are stable enough to be relied upon and those that are, are also constantly being altered in such a minute manner so as to escape human senses. A look at the stars has been critical in navigation for centuries and yet these stars themselves are not static. Most have already burned out and what we perceive as existence is merely their last, great gasp before the end. It was a final, spectacular demise that reaches our eyes only after years upon years of interstellar travel. It provides a wondrous sight to all, unless you live in the city.  
  
Within Gotham most stars are not visible to the naked eye, and Commissioner Gordon feels we are the poorer for it. His only chances to see the celestial heavens occur when a case falls outside of the city, and in those occasions it's usually so grim he finds no joy in their presence, such as when he watched Wayne Manor burn to the ground. He sighs.  
  
He's a police commissioner, he should be spending his last few years sitting behind a desk in his nice, warm office reading reports and assigning cases and so on. Instead it's 3 am and he's sitting in an unmarked car, freezing in a cool December night, occasionally glancing at a window in the tenant building across the street. He's still trying to buck the system, to try and stop time and perform his duty as he did twenty years ago. He shakes his head and mutters, "I'm getting too old for this."  
  
The driver's side door opens and the dishevelled Harvey Bullock steps in, his hands full. "Cup of coffee, Commish, best on the block," he comments, spilling half the contents as he passes the paper cup.  
  
'There goes the coat,' Gordon fumes as he graciously accepts the offering. Taking a sip he churns, 'And there go my taste buds.' Seeking escape he tries to start a conversation, "Are you sure about this, Harvey? I mean, I'm not naïve, I know there are cops on the force who bend the rules, others who break them and some others who line their pockets. It's human nature to expect some corruption here and there, but a detective? Not just a detective, but a homicide man, a man on my taskforce, a man with HIS record! I just don't get it."  
  
Harvey sneers at his companion, annoyed at the mistrust, "Look, Commish, we went over this in your office. I swear he's pulling a fast one. He said the courier company was a dead end, but he's got another notebook in his pocket that I'm sure says otherwise. He suggests we go to Arkham when Two-Face and Penguin bust out, and he instantly finds some note in Two-Face's room and stashes it before I get a gander. Top it off with Arkham's suggestion that Two-Face hates your guts, and my guts tell me something ain't kosher. I don't know, maybe Allen's just trying to hog the glory, but maybe, just maybe, he's moonlighting. Two jobs, get it?" Bullock then grins, "Of course I could be wrong. Maybe Allen's under the control of one of them freaks like the Mad Hatter and doesn't know what's what. Maybe they're both up there hopping around in giant bunny suits and pretending to chase blonde skirts down a…"  
  
"Don't mock the dead," Gordon huffs as he takes another whiff of the fetid coffee. He sighs, "You should have just confronted him, Bullock. This is insane, the Commissioner skulking about after one of his own officers on a hunch! I never should have let you talk me into it."  
  
"But if I'm right…"  
  
"But if you're wrong," Gordon cuts him off. He grows sullen and turns away, looking out the car window again, "Ah, to hell with it. That was my house that burned down, and if they try to pull me down, I'll plead insanity. They'll believe it after I spend the night in your car. Besides, it's not like I had anything else to do."  
  
Within the dark apartment Det. Allen stares out the window and at the unmarked car below.  
  
"Seems I've got a couple of night owls outside," he muses silently to himself. He leaves the vantage point and sits on the edge of his bed, cocking the gun in his hand. Satisfied, he stares out into his pitch black apartment, looking for something that shouldn't be there, "Good..."  
  
…  
  
"A desert?! You want us to cross a freaking desert…and in broad daylight?!"  
  
Its midday across the ocean and Harley has just learned of Bruce's intent to trek by foot to their intended target. It's incredibly warm, with the sun's unbroken rays strafing the sand covered surface, heating it to near human tolerance.  
  
"You want us to cross a desert, and on top of that you're making us wear this black stalker clothing, that doesn't do a thing for me by the way, and you want us to do it in broad daylight!" Harley shouts, uncaring that they're in enemy territory.  
  
"You said that already," Ivy interjects.  
  
"And I'll say it again! This is nuts, and believe me, I know nuts," Harley growls, "and I'm putting my foot down. I'm not going and you can't make me!" She then places both hands to the sides of her head and waves them at her colleagues while crossing her eyes and calling in a mocking tone, "Nyah-nyah!"  
  
Bruce doesn't bother addressing her immediately and instead looks out at the vast emptiness. He unfurls a tiny piece of paper retrieved from the utility belt and makes a note of what is written, "The black clothing is for nightfall, when the temperature will drop. Our adversary is prepared for assaults by air, so we've got to go by land. He may be expecting us, but that doesn't mean we should proceed with reckless abandon. No," he shakes his head, "not with him. You two can take your chances here if you want, or try to head back to the ship, but if you do follow me walk exactly where I walk."  
  
Bruce then begins to walk into the scorched land.  
  
"Fine!" Harley calls, "We will! Right, Red?"  
  
But already Ivy has begun to cross the desert after Bruce Wayne, following his steps precisely. Harley crosses her arms in a huff and growls to herself, "Fine. I'll show them. I'll just wait here with the psychotic ninja that tried to cut my head off. And then they'll come back and find my broken body and they'll cry, 'Boo-hoo, why didn't we stay with Harley? Cut down in the prime of her life. With her brains and body she could have done it all! It's not fair!' And I'll be laughing…wait a minute…what the heck am I saying?! Hey, wait for me!"  
  
…  
  
If there ever were a city bred for perversion, then Gotham would be it. Spires and arches spread across a tangled web of streets and alleys that appear more spewed from the earth than planned and created by human hands. All this creates darkened corners and hiding spaces which make even the most experienced of travellers prey to something dark and vile. An aura of danger haunts the city that causes the honest and dishonest to cringe in fear with sun fall. Yes, the dishonest, disenfranchised, and dispossessed have also learned to fear the night, for something even darker stalks them as well…  
  
Still, life must continue, and for the honest this could include taking chances in order to survive. On the corner of 5th and Madison one of Gotham's most extensive jewellery collections is housed, kept safely locked away in a four inch thick safe that's set on a timer. Even with this precaution two armed men are kept on to guard the safe through night and day. Their job is menial since the entire underworld knows robbery of such a safe is next to impossible. They understand that the safe is burglar proof, and that even the safe manufacturer would have difficulty opening it were the system to malfunction.  
  
Stoic and unmoving, the guards stand at the ready like the staunch men outside the old English palace. To the left is Mr. John Peters, 43, father of three. To the right is Mr. Jonas Reinhold, 33, divorced, father of one. Each man is looking forward to the end of his shift, which comes much sooner than expected. In the dimly lit room they do not see the two tiny birds dart towards them until it is too late, their beaks jabbing into their necks, and soon each man is greeted by complete blackness. The two birds then hear a faint call from behind them and respond by flying to their master and perching on his index finger. With top hat and tails, the rotund little fellow with the pointy nose looks every bit his moniker, the Penguin. He smiles, content that his pets were able to complete their task successfully. He then removes the needles wrapped around their beaks and sets them on their way home.  
  
"The cameras are taken care of," Two-Face whispers, his two-tone suit matching his complexion admirably, "The guards?"  
  
"Off to dreamland, per your suggestion. So you're still anxious about murdering policemen, fair, former district attorney?" Penguin sneers at Dent, "Even after all these years? Ah well, to each his own I say. Oh, incidentally, I made sure to utilize the exact same species of bird on each guard, to ensure the duality of the assault was complete. I hope you approve?"  
  
"Of course," Two-Face nods, "Now let's set up the explosive."  
  
Penguin taps his umbrella nervously on the ground, "I am beginning to have reservations about executing our plan. After all, could we not simply steal the valuables and then obliterate their encasement? The police should be none the wiser until we complete out plans."  
  
"We chose this for a reason, Penguin, and we're going to stick with the plan."  
  
Penguin appears to grow even more jittery, "But still, the twin Faberge egg, an exact copy done by the master, recovered after so long. Such a rare piece would feather such a wonderful nest…"  
  
"Forget it," Two-Face mutters as he begins to set explosive about the office, "Besides, it's a fake."  
  
Penguin's jaw nearly strikes the floor, "A fake? Are you sure?"  
  
"I have a great understanding of duality by nature," Two-Face counters, "And as such have a nose for such things, if you will. I won't be deceived in such matters. Faberge never had an appreciation for duality Penguin, symmetry, but not duality. That's why I agreed on the target, not because it's a twin egg but because of the duality of the message we're about to create."  
  
Twenty minutes later Two-Face and the Penguin are safely absconded within a nearby van and the two slumbering guards are tied up neatly to a lamppost. Two-Face produces a tiny remote detonation device and grins, "Would you be kind enough to do the honours?"  
  
"Of course my good man, of course," and the Penguin depresses the button…  
  
TO BE CONTINUED… 


	5. Fire and Brimstone

Chapter 5: Fire and Brimstone  
  
The Story Thus Far: Someone has broken in police headquarters to peek into the files; Gordon and Bullock stake out Det. Allen's apartment, convinced that he's up to something no good; Bruce, Harley and Ivy reach their destination in early morning. A black garbed ninja-type attacks Harley, but his attack fails thanks to Harley's companions. He leaves behind a small demon's head as a warning. The three of them then set across the nearby desert; Penguin and Two-Face break into a jewellery exchange without the intent to steal. Instead they set explosives and the Penguin depresses the button...  
…  
When you're a cop there's always a boogeyman in the dark. No matter the situation it exists, sometimes imagined and sometimes real. It's being able to tell the difference that determines your length of service, and Det. Joe Allen hasn't risen through the ranks of Gotham's police force through sheer luck. He can stare into that inky blackness and discern the fabricated from true threats. Like now, sitting in his tiny apartment he feels the hairs rise on the nape of his next. His fear becoming palpable he turns and can make it out in the moonlit etched shadows before him. Swirling like a twisted fold of cloth it seems to ooze up from the ground. Clutching his gun in one hand and secreted file in another his muscles tense. This creature has the shape and manners of a man, but it is much more. Allen's met it once before and hopes he fares better this time.  
  
He waits until the creature's eyes are in sight and pulls the trigger. A sudden explosion of light and sound burst through the creature's skull, sending it reeling. Allen rises and starts for the window and the safety of Bullock's car on the street, but in spite of his better judgement he pauses. Taking a glimpse behind him he sees the creature whole again and with a shimmering blade that he swears wasn't there a second ago.  
  
"Son of a…" he calls as the gun rises once more. Like a streak of lightning the assassin strikes, slashing sharply before the weapon is fired, severing Allen's wrist. Bleeding profusely and suffering from nerve damage he releases the gun to the ground and falls to his knees. Looking up he could see the shadow of the grim reaper as the blade is risen high…  
  
A shattering of glass follows and two black boots crash into the chest of the assassin, sending it back once again. The creature stops to assess this latest opponent and is met with a batarang flush to the skull, embedding itself deep into the mental tissue.  
  
As the attacker recovers the black caped girl interloper calls to the wounded detective, her muscles primed for action, "Get out!"  
  
He obeys, and though suffering from blood loss he still manages to reach the window. In a daze he tries to climb out onto the fire-escape.  
  
The creature snarls. Still wounded it hurls the blade at Batgirl. Twirling midair she deftly dodges the spinning sword only to watch haplessly as it passes through the shattered window and reaches its true target, Allen. The blade slides deeply into the startled detective's shoulder; its momentum sends him back into and over the railing to the hard cement 4 stories below.  
  
Batgirl gasps and leaves herself open to a smashing blow by the attacker that sends her through the window as well. She doesn't panic and manages to fire a line. The grapple grabs hold and she alters her freefall to a swing, landing with all the grace of a cat. Enraged, she fires the line once more and soars back to Allen's apartment. It's empty.  
  
"Sweet Jeezus!" Bullock exclaims as he looks down at the mess that was detective Allen on the sidewalk. Gordon is already kneeling by the fallen detective who still clutches at his precious file. Allen's good arm manages to tremble and he tries to speak, "File…"  
  
"He's still alive," Gordon calls to Bullock, checking the pulse rate, "Call it in! Whatever did this could still be in the building!"  
  
The earth then trembles and glass shatters all around them as the still night air is forced to echo the shockwaves of an enormous explosion several city blocks away. Bullock jumps at the sound, but Gordon merely curses, "Damn it! Damn this city! Why now? Why, in heaven's name, does it have to be right now?!"  
  
"Commish, the explosion," Bullock starts, excited, "they're all going to head for it. We're not going to get any back-up any time soon…"  
  
"I know, damn it, I know!" he screams, "Just let me think. Allen's his target; he'll come to finish the job. Load him in the car and let's head for the blast, maybe we'll find a free medic there…and maybe we'll draw that psycho out and away from the residents, maybe… Damn it!"  
  
They pile into the unmarked car and Bullock shifts it into drive. Soon they are roaring down the road, unaware that Batgirl is still searching for the attacker in the apartment complex.  
  
"What did this to you, Joe," Gordon asks, trying to keep his detective awake.  
  
Allen seems to sigh as he tries to draw breath, "Shaftie."  
  
"Shaftie? What the hell's a Shaftie. I've heard of Shaft, but…"  
  
"Shut up Harvey!" Gordon screams, and then he turns to Allen, "Go on."  
  
"Shaftie…my name for it…human-like creature, strong, fast, nothing hurts it… met it before… seems it tried to…tried to make me stop working… working for Two-Face… said it'd kill me, but this case, promotion… seems I just kept going… did nothing wrong…"  
  
"Two-Face? I knew it, you son of a…"  
  
"Shut up Harvey! Why, Joe, why were you working for Two-Face?"  
  
"Why…?" and he's gone. Gordon sighs heavily and passes his hand over the detective's eyes, sending him to an eternal slumber.  
  
"Is he?" Bullock manages.  
  
"Yes," James Gordon replies, clearly shaken by the event. He's seen death before, but so rarely have they passed away in his arms in such a bloody mess. In fact this is similar to only one other time, it's so close to how it happened, when it was…The Commissioner growls as he reaches into the dead man's hand and rips out the blood covered file folder, "And I'm going to find out why…"  
  
…  
  
"Feel the heat yet?"  
  
Garbed completely in black the two of them trudge across desert sands with their leader, a grim faced man whose handsome face covers another, more grotesque and sweat drenched visage beneath. Only he knows what their goal is to be. Behind him is a pale skinned woman whose fiery red hair seems to taunt at them and their situation. She doesn't speak, her mind attuned to its surroundings, waiting for the slightest disturbance. In the rear is the blonde, pig-tailed orator who continues to do what she can to draw attention to herself.  
  
"Yes, yes I do," she replies to her own question, "You?"  
  
"Uh huh," she nods meekly to her own question, frowning, "I don't think I can go on much farther you know…"  
  
"Now that's a shame," she continues, "All because of the mean, MEAN man and his stupid secrets. I don't see why we couldn't stay on the boat."  
  
"Submarine," she corrects herself.  
  
"Whatever! I mean, how long have we been out here? Hours…? Days…? Weeks…? 'Gasp' Years? I tell you, he won't be happy until we're all dead!"  
  
"It's been 40 minutes," she corrects herself once more.  
  
"Minutes, years, what's the difference out here?" and she stops in her tracks, waving her arms in all directions to point out the sea of emptiness, "I mean, how can you tell?"  
  
While Ivy is tempted to grin at Harley's foolery, instead she finds what she seeks buried beneath the sand and waiting to strike. She yells out a warning barely in time.  
  
The sand flies up as three assassins, dressed in black from head to toe, rise up from underneath the scorched surface. The searing embers temporarily blind their quarry and Bruce Wayne fears the worst as his vision returns, but there is no onslaught, at least, not yet. The three attackers merely stand at the ready, hands clasping their shimmering blades.  
  
The center warrior speaks, his tone muffled by the black wrappings about his face, "Turn back…or die!"  
  
Bruce doesn't hesitate in his answer, "I choose neither!" And the battle begins.  
  
Immediately the three attackers move forward in unison, swords unsheathed and raised in the air to be brought down upon their assigned target. Rather than fanning out however, they move together and lunge towards Ivy. Though she's taught herself to fight she is nowhere near as agile, nor as adept at martial skills as Harley Quinn and Bruce Wayne, and her attackers know this. Remove the weakest link and the rest will follow.  
  
Bruce lunges forth quicker than the eye could see, bringing down one of the assassins in a crushing tackle. The assassin tumbles and rolls, committing the most fatal of errors as his arm twists in the air and imbeds his own blade in the small of his back.  
  
Harley's pent up anger is finally released as she moves with a speed and ferocity seldom seen in human beings, and with a leaping kick she crushes another attacker's windpipe. He moans as she lands, his blade sent flying across the desert sands. Turning about she sees Ivy engaged with the final attacker.  
  
His blade makes several sweeping slashes through the air, missing Ivy by hairs each time. In a sudden change of tactics he whirls about and kicks her legs out from under her. He then stops and brings the blade down in a vicious stab.  
  
"RED!" Harley screams as she leaps forward.  
  
Bruce can only utter a nearly inaudible "No." Thinking back to that singular night when it all began to unravel, when everyone and everything began to fall apart. He reaches into his utility belt as he watches the assassin raise the knife up high, poising for a final strike.  
  
A gleaming black bat-wing slashes across the assassin's knife wielding hand, forcing his hand to spasm and drop the knife. He turns and is greeted by a flying kick into the gut by Harley. He falls to his knees and sees a very angry blonde haired woman staring down at him, and HIS blade in HER hand. It's the last thing he'll ever see…  
  
The battle over Bruce tends to Ivy's wound using what's available in the utility belt, all the while muttering uncontrollably, "I'm sorry, so sorry…"  
  
"It's okay," she whispers, trying to console him.  
  
"If you hadn't twisted away in time…"  
  
"I've had worse," she whispers, whimpering only slightly at the application of the alcohol, "It's just a scratch."  
  
"But I promised, promised to…" he continues.  
  
Ivy touches his shoulder and smiles, "Look in my eyes, Bruce." He does, gazing deeply…almost longingly, "I'm fine."  
  
He pulls away and walks towards one of their defeated adversaries.  
  
"You know, Red," Harley chirps up when Bruce is out of earshot, "He's this close," she pinches her index finger and thumb together, "THIS CLOSE to completely losing it!"  
  
Ivy can't tell if Harley is concerned or thrilled about that fact. Instead she calls to Bruce, "So, how much farther?"  
  
He ignores the question as he looks over the prone form before him. He shakes his head and spots a tiny, black keychain on the assassin's belt. He stares at the attachment, shaped like a car alarm activation box. Depressing the button he sneers as the ground shakes and only a few meters away a glass shrouded cylinder rises up from beneath yellow sands. The doors part in an inviting manner and he accepts by walking gingerly towards them.  
  
Ivy struggles to get up and Harley shakes her head. "He's going to get us all killed, I just know it," she grumbles as she helps Ivy towards the elevator.  
  
The doors close and they watch as they shrink away from the light and into the depraved depths below. Harley grimaces at the thought, "Kinky."  
  
The darkness has always held a special fascination to the human psyche. As children many learned to fear and respect its inky folds, for each pocket of night could hold a terror capable of forever altering the shape and substance of life. In later years this theory metamorphosises and the darkness becomes a curious part of space yearning to be explored, and if possible exploited. Inhibitions seem lost when the night shrouds blanket our existence and we often find ourselves willing to embrace the bizarre, unexpected and insane much more readily, almost as a consequence of embracing the blackness itself. And then we grow, and age, and learn once more to fear that blackness and the terrors it may hold.  
  
Bruce Wayne has experienced every level of the night, and what he once considered his ally and tormentor at the same time has become nothing more than another facet of existence to loathe. With the darkness you're forced to think, not act. Your mind is forced to wander, and it brings with it thoughts that may have been better left suppressed. He's learned to fear and hate the dark, especially when it isn't under his control.  
  
Within the glass lined elevator he continues his descent within the bowels of the earth, his two erstwhile companions, Ivy and Harley Quinn at his sides. None have spoken since their trip has begun and he can only gauge their presence by listening for their breathing. His ears perk a little as he notes how Ivy's breathing is still slightly laboured and heavy, her wound at her side obviously causing sharp bolts of pain each time she draws breath. All because of him and his damned need...  
  
The elevator then shudders to a halt. He could hear the doors part and they delicately makes their way out into the pitch blackness with Harley helping Ivy along. Bruce is about to reach for his flashlight when the room is doused in a blanket of bright light, leaving all three momentarily dazed. As their vision clears the elevator doors close, and they realize that a trap has been sprung.  
  
All about them are men dressed in black, with swords sheathed and faces masked. Each stands at the ready, awaiting the order to strike from he who sits upon a large, elevated throne directly behind them. His countenance is pure malice as he stares down at the three before him with hate filled eyes. His skin is darkened by the desert sun and it tenses as he raises his muscular arm upward to order his horde to stay down, for the moment. A grin then forms upon his lips that would quell any thought of victory in any normal human mind.  
  
Bruce Wayne merely smiles back at his opponent.  
  
"It looks like some kind of cult…" Ivy manages in awe.  
  
Harley swallows hard, "I hope they're the suicidal type."  
  
"What have you got us into?" Ivy asks.  
  
The figure on the throne calls out to his captives below before Bruce has a chance to respond, his voice every bit as powerful as his presence, "Allow me to answer that question, my dear. This collection you see before you…" he gestures at his men, "represents the most elite faction of assassins the world has ever known, a veritable league, if you will. Each of them have been trained from birth in the deadly arts and are absolutely loyal to only one man, he who is called Ra's al Ghul, or the Demon's Head, if you will. Me. I bid you welcome to my humble abode and hope that each of you has come prepared to die…"  
  
TO BE CONTINUED… 


	6. Questions and Answers

Chapter 6: Questions and Answers  
  
The Story Thus Far: Det. Allen is assaulted by a near indestructible creature he calls a 'Shaftie'. Batgirl intervenes but is unable to save Allen from mortal injury as the creature escapes. Bullock and Gordon rush Allen towards a nearby explosion caused by Two-Face and the Penguin, knowing emergency personnel will be there and to try to lure the assassin away from Allen's apartment building. Gordon looks into Allen's secret file on the firebombing of his home and learns Allen's been working for Two-Face all along; Assassins strike at Bruce, Ivy and Harley in the desert sands, seriously wounding Ivy. Bruce discovers an entryway to the assassin's lair and the trio are met by a very large and very prepared horde of black garbed killers, along with their leader, Batman's old foe Ra's al Ghul, "I bid you welcome to my humble abode, and hope that each of you has come prepared to die…"  
…  
"No!"  
  
Bruce Wayne yells out before Ra's could complete his sentence, hoping to buy some time, "None of us are going to die, none of us! Not until you tell me why, Ra's, why did you call for me?"  
  
"Call for you?" Ra's answers in sheer puzzlement, "My dear fellow, I haven't the slightest idea what you are talking about. You are a bane to my existence, a vile curmudgeon that I would smite were it not for your uncanny skills and the love my daughter has for you. I would not call upon you, detective, even if my life were dependent on it, especially now, on the eve of my greatest triumph!"  
  
"But what about the traces of the Lazarus Pit I found within Harley's bloodstream? Why, but to set me on this path…?"  
  
Harley's dumbfounded, "My blood? Why'd you peek at my blood?"  
  
"Yes detective, why? The Lazarus Pit is my most prized possession, the secret to life everlasting. I do not share it with fools, and any such suggestion is an insult upon my very being! This trap was laid out when I had learned of your presence upon my island. Every inch of this land is monitored, detective, every facet constructed by my engineers, you could not get this far had I not wanted you to do so!"  
  
"But Harley died, Ra's! She died and you brought her back! The Lazarus Pit brought her back!"  
  
"I…died?" Harley whispers, her lower lip quivering as she takes a puzzled look at Ra's, Bruce, and finally Ivy. Only Ivy looks back, giving a very faint nod in the process.  
  
"You are beginning to anger me, detective!" Ra's screams as he rises up from his throne. His horde unsheathes their swords in response but they do not advance. "I did not share my precious secret to life immortal with this…this female! Gotham as a whole has as little interest to me as the rest of the world. It is just one more pillar of man's blight upon the earth…a festering pit that needs to be removed in order for Mother Nature to reclaim what is rightfully hers! No, you are mistaken detective…"  
  
Bruce cuts Ra's off, "Words, Ra's. All you're giving me are words, and the words of a deceiver mean nothing to me! Where's your evidence, Ra's, where's the proof? I have mine, where's yours?"  
  
"You invade MY home," Ra's spews back, the horde eerily writhing with each syllable; "You accuse ME of lies and dare to sully MY very name!" His eyes flash fire as he speaks and his right hand clasps about his blade, "You seek truth?" Ra's unsheathes his blade, "Here, take it!" and he hurls it down, but not at Bruce Wayne. Instead the handle of the glimmering sword falls into the nimble fingers of Harley Quinn. Bruce doesn't move as she turns towards him with a vapid look on her face.  
  
"Bruce?" Ivy whispers in a concerned fashion. He motions for her to stay put as he meets Harley's eyes.  
  
"My penultimate moment is upon you, detective," Ra's calls down, "And your final humiliation is at hand. My dear," he calls to Harley, "You hold your master's blade in your hand."  
  
Harley repeats the words in a trance-like manner, "My…master's…blade…"  
  
Despite his cool outer demeanour Ra's is dumbfounded by her response, its significance weighing heavily upon him. He did not expect this. However, the Demon's Head is also a superb tactician, so he presses the advantage, "Before you is my most repugnant enemy," Ra's continues, "And he is therefore your enemy as well."  
  
"My…enemy…"  
  
"Yes, your enemy. He's slain the man you've loved; he's led you and your companion into innumerable death traps. He seeks your destruction…"  
  
"My…destruction…"  
  
Bruce couldn't help smiling under his latex mask as he thinks of the words Ra's spoke earlier, 'So you've no interest in Gotham, Ra's?'  
  
Ra's continues, "Slay him with your master's blade, my dear. Slay him and your master shall show you favour the likes you've never known to exist! Slay him, so that you may live!"  
  
Harley raises the blade up high and pauses, "Ivy?"  
  
Ra's raises an eyebrow, "Your ally? She will be permitted to take leave of this place once your task is complete if you so desire, but you must act quickly! Strike now!" Ra's begins to scream, "Kill him!"  
  
And the blade flashes through the air…  
  
…  
"He's dead."  
  
Det. Bullock remarks casually as the battered and bruised prone form of Det. Allen is loaded onto the ambulance. Next to him is Merkel, a veteran of Gotham's police force and the Commissioner's first choice for damage control duties.  
  
"That's pretty obvious Bull," Merkel remarks as he taps an officer's shoulder, volunteering said officer to accompany the body. Merkel then turns to Bullock, his tone less than cordial as he asks, "What killed him and what was he doing in your car?"  
  
Bullock takes a long puff on his cigar and looks Merkel square in the eye, "The Commish and I were headed over to his place to…discuss the arson case on the Commish's home. When we got there Allen took a swan dive off the fourth floor fire escape. He was still kicking when the explosion hit so we thought our best bet to get him here to a waitin' ambulance."  
  
"Who…?"  
  
"We don't know," Bullock snarls, wanting to change the subject, "So we can't get an APB out, and the perp's probably long gone by now. Still, you'd better send a squad over to Allen's place, maybe they'd turn something up." Bullock then turns around and stares into the raging inferno behind him, and he recalls another night, not too long ago, when flames were licking the sky, "What the hell happened here, Merk?"  
  
"Damnedest thing Bull, damnedest thing," Merkel responds as he glances at Bullock's car and the Commissioner still seated within it. He shakes his head and turns away, "Thieves busted into the jewellery exchange, I think they wanted to steal the duplicate Faberge egg inside since it's the most valuable bauble in the joint, but for some reason or another they didn't manage to pull it off. Some firefighters noticed the safe was unopened. We did find the staff and guards safe and sound a block away, asleep. I ask you, who busts into a place like that and just walks away? There's cash, rough stones and other little trinkets that would set you up for life on the other floors, and they only blast the egg to hell! Damnedest thing I've ever heard of…"  
  
"Wait a second," Bullock mutters as he holds a hand up, "They only blew up one floor?"  
  
"Yeah," Merkel answers, "That's how we know nothing else was touched, Bull. They just broke in and firebombed one floor using the cutest little firetraps you'd ever laid eyes on. They also laid about plenty of noisemakers that busted glass but not much else, making the blast look worse than it really was. You see now what kind of a nut-job we're dealing with here?"  
  
"Firebomb," Bullock grins from ear to ear as he heads towards his car, "Duplicate egg. The Commish is just gonna love this."  
  
Within the ancient, blood soaked sedan Commissioner Gordon pours over the contents of a crimson covered file folder. A street lamp overhead and the nearby flickering flames provide his only illumination, but he presses onwards. About him is absolute chaos as men scramble every which way to their designated tasks. He ignores it all and continues to read. The driver's side door opens and Det. Bullock flops into his seat.  
  
"Good reading, Commish?"  
  
Gordon ignores the comment and continues his investigation.  
  
"Two-Face and Penguin blew the place up, you know. A twin Faberge egg was inside that place, see the connection? I read up on it, just out of curiosity. There's a big controversy over the damned thing, no one's sure if it's the real deal or not, you see, and it was sent to Gotham for examination. Thing is, I don't think they stole it. Safe wasn't open and with the firecrackers they used it just becomes a very noisy arson case. It's like they're almost confessin' to burning your place down. That's weird thing number one. Weird thing number two is that no one was killed. I mean, come on, offing people is like going to the can for these psychos, so why take the trouble to save them? Makes no sense…"  
  
Gordon's been ignoring Bullock's words for the most part, and takes the moment of silence to mention, "Confession is good for the soul."  
  
Bullock shrugs at the suggestion, unsure what Gordon's getting at, "Come again?"  
  
"Allen," Gordon continues as he taps on the blood soaked file folder, "We were his back-up tonight. He led you on, Bullock. He knew you'd pick things up and eventually trail him. He couldn't ask for help since Two-Face was involved. If he told us the truth we'd just bust him and his entire investigation would go to pot, so he got you riled up enough to tail him. It's all in here," Gordon gestures towards the blood spattered folder, folding it triumphantly.  
  
Bullock whistles slightly, "When is a man dead on, but not what he appears to be?"  
  
"When he's pretending to be something he isn't. When he's acting," the Commissioner answers without thinking. He pauses, "Where'd you hear that?"  
  
"Riddler; Allen was with me at the time at Arkham," Bullock blinks, "Son of a gun. Maybe we'd better see what else Eddie's got…"  
  
"Maybe," Gordon nods, "but not yet. There's an address in the folder and I think we'd better have a look."  
  
Bullock grins as he guns the engine, "Back-up?"  
  
"Taken care of," the Commissioner replies in a deadpan manner.  
  
Bullock gently taps the revolver in his coat pocket as he begins to pull away from the police barricade, "Did Allen mention why he started working for Two-Face, Commish?"  
  
Gordon can only sigh as he checks his gun, "Yes, he gave a very good reason. And I pray to God that he's wrong..."  
…  
  
Most places in the world recognize the fact that walking down a deserted alley in the middle of the night is pent amount to suicide, and yet many continue to do so. These individuals choose to try and save a few minutes by cutting across such deathtraps, rather than trying to save their lives by avoiding them altogether and taking the long way home. If we were inclined to do so, to stop and stare down one of these pits of despair, we may even bear witness to such a hapless soul being ravaged by the dregs of society, and we'd clutch at our hearts for the horror we've seen.  
  
Screams of help go unheeded and aid is not coming as the brazen youth is being beaten senseless within such a dank hole along one of Gotham's poorer districts. Male or female, gender is unimportant to these attackers, nor is pigmentation, nor dress, nor demeanour or appearance. They only understand one thing; they only wish to satiate one need. However, sometimes when you plead long enough, and hard enough, your prayers may be answered.  
  
Each attacker turns at the sight of the creature. It does not speak and appears all the more inhuman for it. Their salivating jaws have known no fear until tonight, when they meet a creature of the night even more at home in the alleys and slums than they are. Three foolish ones attempt to strike out at this intruder, and each is met with brutal and swift violence. All three fall and groan, unable to rise. The rest know better and scatter, leaving their potential victim alone with their newfound nemesis.  
  
Taking the moment the victim manages to rise up and with panic stricken eyes makes a mad dash out of their world and into one of a brightly lit metropolis. The creature doesn't even make a gesture as the victim runs by and looks down at those three she had stopped. Tonight she was able to save a life, but earlier in the selfsame evening her efforts fell short and a police detective plummeted to his doom. She can recall another time long ago when she had failed another. He, like the police detective, fell from such a height that it ultimately killed him. She cared for this man, cared for him deeply, more so than life itself, and she did bear witness to his mangled corpse upon the ground. It's a vision she cannot escape no matter how hard she tries. She's given up long ago…  
  
A small light begins to blink on her belt and she returns to the darkness from whence she came. The homing beacon on Bullock's car is in motion once more; it's time for Batgirl to rejoin the fray…  
  
TO BE CONTINUED… 


	7. Armageddon I

Chapter 7: Armageddon I  
  
The Story Thus Far: Batgirl manages to stop a mugging and laments her failure from earlier that night; Bullock learns Two-Face and Penguin are behind the jewellery exchange firebombing while Gordon pours over Det. Allen's notes. Gordon finds an interesting address, but keeps other facts to himself; Bruce Wayne accuses Ra's al Ghul of giving Harley life after being shot and killed by the Joker. Ra's sees such a suggestion as an insult upon his character and he attempts to prove otherwise by commanding Harley to slay Bruce. Ra's reasons that if Harley were not saved by him, if she was not given the Lazarus Pit treatment, then she would not acquiesce. However, Harley appears to obey Ra's al Ghul's wishes as "the blade flashes through the air…"  
…  
The shimmering sword cuts through the air with an unerring accuracy, and only Bruce Wayne's years of training allow him to deftly evade each deadly strike. Nearby Ivy stands mortified by the sight as Harley Quinn takes another swipe at Bruce. Once more he sidesteps the blow, not wanting to harm his attacker.  
  
Within their cavernous entrapment the horde of assassins merely watch in silence. From high above their master, Ra's Al Ghul, stares down with a puzzled look upon his face.  
  
'How?' he wonders, 'How is it possible? No one had been able to steal the secret of the Lazarus Pit, not in all these years. Yet there's the proof…she's completely under my sway. The detective did not lie…I have been betrayed…'  
  
Ra's turns away from the scene and disappears behind lavish curtains, muttering to himself, "This requires contemplation..."  
  
Down below the participants of the macabre dance of death continue to wage their battle. With each of Harley's frantic cuts of air Bruce manages a last second dodge. Not once does he press the attack, avoiding each opening like the plague. Instead he opts for a defensive stance every time, not wanting to harm a hair on her head.  
  
It continues on with Bruce knowing he must stay at his best as a single error may cost him his life...until he and Harley notice Ra's has removed himself from the scene. Harley acknowledges this change in the situation with a sly wink and a strong toss of her sword into a nearby member of the horde, to which Bruce smiles as he removes two small weapons from his utility belt, tossing one to Harley's waiting hand. She giggles like a child in a candy store and proceeds to fire the bizarre contraption at another horde member. This time a stark blue beam blazes forth and upon striking its target envelopes him in a clear sheath of ice! Together they begin to rush the horde.  
  
"Ivy!" Bruce calls out as he reaches into his belt once more, this time removing a fistful of seeds that he tosses to one side. Ivy then wills them with her control of plant life to grow to maturity within seconds into large, near indestructible creeper vines, ensnaring any nearby assassin in the process.  
  
At this point the horde has finally begun to rally and they begin to fight back. Sensing they might not make it across the chamber, Bruce reaches into his belt once more and produces a small remote control device with a single red button on it.  
  
Ivy notices, "What's that for?"  
  
"The Somnambulist," Bruce replies, managing a brief glance towards Ivy as he depresses the button, "Let's just say it was a good thing you didn't want to stay on the sub…"  
  
Ra's al Ghul is, if nothing else, a very calculating man. Knowing that his foes did not arrive by air or land, he sent his men to scavenge the sea. As his foes dared walk on his soil he had secreted their only means of escape into his lair. So it comes as no surprise that within the artificial island's underwater bay, a few hundred meters away from the fray, a company of Ra's al Ghul's men stare at the submarine they've only recently salvaged, its propellers removed to ensure there would be no escape. Yes, Ra's al Ghul understands that in battle victory is everything, but victory with the vanquished foes' assets in your account is near sublime. And what an odd creature this vehicle christened Somnambulist is, with its boat-like features it appears capable of skimming the waves above just as easily as riding the currents underneath. Ra's al Ghul's men anticipate a dissection of the vessel in the near future, and even though booby-traps may abound not one fears for his safety. After all, Ra's knows his enemy well; the detective does not kill…  
  
A low hum is then heard, unnoticeable at first its pitch and wail becomes louder and louder with each passing moment, until each member of the salvage squadron is covering their ears in pain. The noise soon penetrates into the chamber where the horde has begun to break down the defences of their prey. Slowly, ever so slowly, they are pushing forward, clustering their 3 foes closer and closer together…until they hear the fevered pitch emanating from afar. With anguish in their eyes they fall to the ground and cover their ears in a vain attempt to halt the pain, only there is no relief.  
  
Bruce gestures for his two companions to hurry across the room, forgetting that he didn't warn them of the oncoming onslaught. As Harley and Ivy writhe in agony on the floor with the horde Bruce sighs, they haven't much time! Desperate, he grabs each woman by a leg and pulls them across the floor to the shelter of a doorway located beyond the horde and directly underneath the platform that supports Ra's al Ghul's throne. Once safely there Bruce stops and turns, firing his ice gun at the archway to seal it in a thick layer of ice.  
  
"There," he mutters as he finishes, "That should hold."  
  
"Was that necessary?!" Harley screams as she tries to drive the ringing from her ears and dust from her body, "And what is that freaking noise?!"  
  
"They say it's dangerous to wake a sleepwalker, there's your proof," Bruce says in a completely deadpan fashion as he removes his earplugs.  
  
The noise slowly dying away from her ears, Harley turns her attention to Bruce's handiwork. She saunters over to the ice block and rubs her hand upon it to produce a clear view into the chamber they have just escaped from. "Oh yeah, this'll hold," she remarks, "Good job, boss, good job. Yep, this'll definitely hold. Uh, what's it gonna hold, exactly? I mean, those guys are about as lively as Lenin right now…"  
  
As if in answer the high pitched wail ceases as the Somnambulist's turbines wear themselves out. Ra's' troops rise up from their pain ridden stupor, grabbing their weapons and wanting to lash out. They don't get the chance as the bit of calm is shattered by the Somnambulist's second rude awakening. Its modified turbines had spun violently enough to generate sparks, which in turn became flames that migrated across the engine room to a well concealed armament. In a single, deafening blast the entire vessel disintegrates, ripping gigantic shards through Ra's al Ghul's horde and the hull of his floating fortress, allowing the sea to flow in unchecked. Water begins lapping into the chamber which Bruce and his party were once in and Harley and Ivy watch through the clear ice as assassin after assassin tries to flee in vain. Ivy sums it up best in a horrific tone, "They'll drown!"  
  
A lowly "Yes" is Bruce Wayne's only reply.  
  
"Way to go, boss!" Harley chatters back with a huge grin, "I knew you had it in you! Now if you'd just ditch the stupid mask and show off that nice toothy grin of yours…"  
  
Ivy continues to stare out at the sea of suffering souls as the entire island begins to list. As she stares she sees one of the horde remove his mask and her mouth gapes open in shock, "That one, it looks just like…"  
  
"Beloved," a voice calls from behind them. They turn in unison and see one of the most beautiful women the world has ever known. Her raven like hair and deep, soulful eyes would make any man swoon, and Bruce Wayne was no exception. However, he had always managed to stave off his feelings for one simple reason; she was also the daughter of one of his mortal enemies.  
  
"Talia," he manages as she wraps her arms around him. Ivy stands in stunned silence as Harley whispers, "Oh yeah, this day just keeps getting better and better…"  
  
Bruce could feel the warmth of her touch, this woman whom he's longed for what seems like time immemorial, and he finds himself pushing her away. "Where's Beal?"  
  
"I…see," she replies after noticing his blonde and red-headed companions nearby. She looks at him with large, hurt filled eyes and answers with a quiver in her lips, "He's safe, only a few doors away…"  
  
"Good," he turns towards Harley and Ivy, "I want you two to follow Talia and to do EXACTLY what she says. Understood?"  
  
"Ja whol mein Fuhrer!" Harley smiles as she salutes him, then muttering inaudibly, "Jerk."  
  
Ivy only nods as she grasps her side, trying to show that the tears in her eyes are due to the pain of her now reopen wound, and not because of…something else.  
  
"But Beloved, I…" Talia starts.  
  
"Not now, Talia," Bruce replies as he turns away to head down the opposite corridor, "Maybe not ever. Not until your father and I have a little…talk…"  
  
…  
  
"This the place, Commish?"  
  
The Pit Bull like voice of Det. Bullock cuts through the silence as he pulls his dark sedan with extinguished headlights into the front of a boarded up warehouse. This portion of the Gotham's docks are affectionately referred to as the Rat's Nest, for the simple reason that only the vermin of society would dare to tread here. Commissioner James W. Gordon pushes back his glasses on his nose and attempts to double check the address by moonlight on the blood spattered folder in his hands. The rear seats of the car, his clothing and hands are all covered in blood. Though not his, the sight of it still cuts him deep for it belonged to a fallen officer who died for the fantastic information said file contains.  
  
Gordon sighs, "This is it alright." Having memorized most of the pertinent facts already he shuts the file folder and tucks it under his car seat. Pulling out his police issued handgun he steps out of the car and into the night. A chill travels down his spine, but it isn't due to the night air.  
  
Bullock does the same and the two make their way as silently as possible towards the seemingly abandoned building. They make it to the outside wall without incident and Bullock takes the moment to address the Commissioner, "You sure we shouldn't call in for backup?"  
  
Gordon sighs, "I said it was taken care of." He then points to a spot on the wall, "That's the way in."  
  
They trudge delicately to the spot and Gordon nudges a portion of it. It gives on silent hinges, revealing itself as a large, wooden flap. They make their way inside. Within is nothing but inky blackness all around. Bullock fumbles in his pocket for a flashlight and turns it on.  
  
"For God's sake!" Gordon whispers as loudly as he dares, "Shine that thing on the ground and nowhere else! They could spot us!"  
  
Gordon and Bullock make their way slowly across the floor and come across a bench top. Near it are some large cylinders with labels of flammable and explosive emblazoned in bold letters. Bullock notices a set of cassette tapes on a corner of the bench and chooses one at random. He places it in the adjacent tape recorder and after ensuring that the volume is set as low as possible he turns it on and places the recorder by his ear. He grins and motions to the Commissioner to come closer, placing the still playing recorder by his ear as well. Gordon's eyes grow wide and his jaw drops as he listens to a voice rambling on after being questioned. Gordon's aghast, "Joker…"  
  
"They must've spliced together bits and pieces," Bullock whispers as he puts the recorder back, "until they got what you heard the night your place was firebombed, just to rattle you and throw us off the scent. It looks like they were behind the whole thing all along."  
  
"Indeed!" a rare, dignified voice calls out as the lights go on. Bullock and Gordon whirl about and come face to face with twin silver plated handguns and a machine gun umbrella, each in the hands of the quarry they sought.  
  
"Look at what we have here, two birds that have gone astray and into our gun sights," the short, monocle wearing fellow with the pointy noise remarks, "You understand, gentlemen, that while I abhor violence decorum dictates that we, as the villains, must aerate you both. Heh." The Penguin turns to his taller companion who is wearing a distinctive two tone suit that's topped off with a two toned hat to match his half-handsome, half-grotesque complexion. The Penguin grins, "Shall we, my dear fellow?"  
  
In response Two-Face pulls back on the hammers of his guns and sneers…  
  
TO BE CONTINUED… 


	8. Armageddon II

A warning that this chapter is not for the feint of heart…in PG terms anyway…  
  
Also thanks to "A. Non." for mentioning the error with Ch. 6. It was much appreciated.  
  
Chapter 8: Armageddon II  
  
The Story Thus Far: Harley is compelled to attack Bruce by Ra's al Ghul, and Ra's can't believe his eyes. Her willingness to obey means someone had given Harley a dose of the Lazarus Pit and that he, Ra's, has been betrayed. Ra's leaves the scene to do some thinking on the matter. Upon his exit Harley starts an assault on Ra's' horde of assassins, showing her loss of will was all an act. Bruce, Ivy and Harley make it past the horde when Bruce detonates their captured vessel, the Somnambulist, crippling Ra's' floating fortress/island and causing it to start to sink, drowning a large number of the horde in the process. The trio then meet up with Talia, Ra's' daughter and long time love of Bruce. Bruce asks Harley and Ivy to follow her as he takes another path to have a final 'talk' with Ra's; Meantime, Gordon and Bullock arrive to a warehouse and using Det. Allen's file are able to gain entry. Inside they discover equipment they believe was used to firebomb the Commissioner's home. The lights go on and they're discovered by the Penguin and Two-Face as "Two-Face pulls back on the hammers of his guns and sneers…"  
…  
  
Whirling about he trains both guns to side of the Penguin's skull, nudging their cold tips to the side of his temple. The Penguin is justifiably enraged, "Dent! What the HELL are you DOING?"  
  
The Commissioner breathes a sigh of relief and Bullock is left scratching his head as handcuffs are placed about the Penguin's wrists. The cagey bird is still irate, "I should have known! I should have known! Waugh! Not once, not once did you toss that damned coin of yours to make a decision! And at the jewellery exchange, you didn't let me kill the guards! You even made sure everyone was out when we blew the damned place up! I let it pass, I thought your time in Arkham had made you soft, but I should have known better! You…you…" and for the first time in his life the Penguin is at a loss for words.  
  
Bullock is still perplexed, "Let me get this straight Commish, when you said we had backup, he was it? I mean…him…? How…?"  
  
Gordon merely smiles at the question and taps Harvey Dent, Gotham's former district attorney, on the shoulder. Dent's demeanour changes from one of sheer intensity to soft-spoken and suave as his handsome half manages a meagre smile, until he notices Gordon's blood stained coat and hands. Dent tips his two toned hat, "Sorry for the scare. I take it since you're here that Det. Allen is in some difficulty?"  
  
Gordon frowns and looks down at his hands, "No…not anymore..."  
  
"So, wait, then Penguin was behind the whole thing, right?" Bullock questions as he points to the bomb making equipment.  
  
"No," Dent answers, "Neither of us was."  
  
Bullock is unimpressed and provides a long, drawn out, "Right…it wasn't your idea to have Allen or one of your other cronies burn the Commish's place to the ground. You didn't just do the same to the jewellery exchange. You didn't leave little notes and clues for Allen to hunt down so he'd know what's next on the menu. Cripes!" Bullock growls as he levels his gun at Two-Face's skull.  
  
Gordon stands in-between them, "Put that down Bullock!"  
  
Bullock doesn't budge, "I don't know what garbage that file of Allen's fed you Commish, but I ain't buying. He's trying to mess with us, get our guard down…"  
  
"Don't be dense," Gordon mutters, "If he wanted to kill us, well, he just passed up a wonderful opportunity."  
  
"It could still be a trick," Bullock snarls, "Trojan horse."  
  
"This is what our mutual adversary wants," Dent pipes up, his voice a sincere whisper, "Two forces set against each other, divide and conquer, a very old and effective strategy…unless one side knows of the plan. Sow seeds of mistrust, a fictitious grudge, an unlikely alliance and a depraved act. See, our mutual adversary WANTED Oswald and I out of Arkham so we could meet headlong with the forces of law and order and be eliminated in the process. Our adversary used our natural mistrust and hate against each other, and would have succeeded were it not for the existence of the proof…the file…and something else…"  
  
Bullock sneers, "Spill it..."  
  
"We were supposed to raise hell," Dent replies, "We were inured to destroy. My…condition saved me, but Oswald, well, Oswald isn't himself…"  
  
"Yeah, right," Bullock coughs.  
  
"Suppose we believe you, Harvey," Gordon mutters as he turns towards the former district attorney, "Then who is responsible?"  
  
"I wasn't sure at first, but, well, 'When is a man dead on, but not what he appears to be…?'"  
  
As Dent speaks Bullock notices a large shadow begin to form on the ground behind the former district attorney and the Commissioner. He mutters a silent curse and dives for Gordon. Naturally, years of experience on the force have sharpened Gordon's reflexes so that when a large, unkempt man lunges at him, his first instinct is to move out of the way. Bullock, missing his target, careens into the two-toned former DA, toppling both of them over a nearby table. And then it suddenly drops down from one of the metal beams above, landing with nary a sound in the centre of the room. A huge human like creature garbed in black, with a large sword in each hand and eyes of blazing death. As it lands one blade lashes out at where Dent would have been had Bullock not acted so quickly. Turning, the creature makes its way to the upturned table.  
  
Gordon gasps before drawing a bead on the monstrosity, "Freeze!"  
  
The creature turns and Gordon fires several shots into its chest. The creature staggers momentarily before continuing to advance towards the startled Commissioner. He fires several more rounds, emptying his gun with little effect. "Damn it," he curses as he begins walking back, trying to reload his gun with blood slicked hands. The creature raises its two swords in the air and is poised to strike when the skylight shatters high above their heads. Instinctively both Gordon and the creature look upwards, and both behold the site of a jet black figure flying down on ebony wings through the broken glass, and smashing into the creatures head! Gordon falls back to avoid the shards, continuing to load his gun as Batgirl engages the creature, "Damned Shaftie…"  
  
Batgirl enters a fighting stance as the Shaftie repairs what damage she had wrought. It then meets her face to face, gurgling in a slimy voice at the sight of her, "You should have stayed out of this, my dear…" The creature is met with two swift kicks, one to the head, and the other to a sword wielding hand, before it can complete the sentence. The Shaftie continues to hold the blade Batgirl struck and lashes out with the other one. Batgirl avoids the strike and drives a fist into the creature's throat to no effect. Its eyes suddenly shift their focus away from Batgirl, and then the impossible happens. Its arm grows in length and flies at its new target, the sword it wields pointing straight at the Commissioner as it whispers at the girl, "Better hurry."  
  
She shoves at the creature with a ferocity that belies her small frame, but her hands merely embed themselves within its malleable form as the sword continues to fly. Gordon's instinct tells him to look up at the last instant and he dives to one side, barely avoiding a lethal strike. Unfortunately the honed edge does connect with his side and he winces in pain. The creature's arm recoils partway and prepares to lash out once more as Gordon covers his wound the best he can. He's lost his gun, and if he doesn't get up he'll soon lose his life. The blade flies once more as Gordon struggles to his feet. "This time," the Shaftie whispers, "I won't miss."  
  
Gordon makes it to his feet mere milliseconds before the sword is to impale him. He braces himself just as Batgirl leaps between him and the oncoming onslaught. With lightning reflexes she tries to parry the blade away, but its velocity is too great and it rends her armoured suit and skewers her flesh. She falls limp in Gordon's arms and he screams as the Shaftie's arm recoils.  
  
The primal scream rouses Harvey Dent and he in turn nudges Det. Harvey Bullock as he reaches for his guns. The two of them rise in unison and let loose with their weapons at the Shaftie. Each projectile appears to explode on contact with the creature's hide and it snarls at having been so rudely interrupted. Without warning it turns and lets its sword fly forward, missing Bullock and Dent by hairs as they duck behind the upturned table. The creature then begins to advance.  
  
"Thanks, by the way," Dent manages as he reloads.  
  
"Just returning the favour," Bullock answers as he reloads, "Think we'll make it?"  
  
Dent grins, "Pair of Harveys, how can we lose?"  
  
Bullock sighs as they prepare to head up once more, "You know Harvey was a giant invisible rabbit, right?"  
  
And they begin shooting, their barrage having as little effect as before. Dent notices the Penguin to one side and watches in amazement as the felonious fowl snaps his handcuffs with as little difficulty as a toothpick. The cagey bird then grins and begins to flee as Dent screams after him, "Oswald!" Dent changes his aim away from the Shaftie and fires several rounds at the Penguin, each one incredibly missing its fleet footed mark. Bullock then runs out of ammunition and ducks behind the upturned table, pulling the distracted DA down with him as the creature attempts to repair this latest salvo upon its person.  
  
"Such strength," Dent whispers, still unable to comprehend what he just saw, "Such speed…impossible…" and he continues to reload.  
  
Meantime Gordon still holds Batgirl's limp form in his arms, his concern for her slowly being replaced with an insurmountable anger. He's unsure if she's alive or dead because her thick costume prevents analysis of the wound, but in his mind the worst has happened. He knows what it's like to have a loved one die while in his arms and he'll be damned if he'll let this freak of nature do it again!  
  
Gently setting Batgirl to one side he staggers to his feet and makes his way over to a fire alarm, complete with extinguisher, and axe…  
  
Bullock and Dent are having little success with their repetitive assaults, only managing to delay the creature's inevitable attack. By now it has come within striking range and its blades slam down, cleaving their only cover in two. They look up in awe as it prepares for the killing blow when a sick sound is heard, the type of noise one might hear in a slaughterhouse when a hunk of meat is cleaved in twain. There is a single thud on the ground as the creature's head bounces to one side of the room. This is followed by a louder thud as the body falls, revealing the Commissioner with axe in hand behind it.  
  
"Jeezus," Bullock gurgles as he saunters to his feet, "That was nuts! But that axe, what the hell's the brown stuff on it? It ain't human blood."  
  
"No…it isn't," Dent interjects as he points towards the Shaftie's torso, "Look." They stare in unison as it writhes and moves, trying to search for its missing head.  
  
Gordon glances incredulously at the axe blade and tosses it to one side. He then limps towards Batgirl's fallen frame, "We're getting out of here."  
  
Bullock looks about, "Hey, where's the Penguin?"  
  
"Forget him!" Gordon yells, "Just help me get her out of here, she might still be alive!"  
  
As the trio make their way out Bullock calls back, "You coming, Dent?"  
  
"In a second," he answers as he stares at the still moving creature. Turning to the cylinders filled with explosive mixtures he rotates each switch to the open position. He then removes a book of matches from his pocket and makes his way to the exit. Taking one last look back he lights a single stick and throws it at the cylinders. As he makes his way to the car there is an explosion of concentrated heat and flame, followed by a large, intense fire that lights up the night sky in perverse hues of gold and red.  
  
"They say the Phoenix rises up from the ashes, a creature capable of two lives for the price of one," Harvey Dent remarks as he gets into Bullock's car, "Hopefully that thing's not a relative."  
  
…  
  
"Aw, what a cute little bugger."  
  
The tiny baby giggles approvingly as it tries to grab Harley's blonde pig-tails with chubby little hands. She lifts him high into the air and back down again, and he claps his hands joyfully while laughing. Harley smiles, "I've always loved children, but Mr. J…uh…wasn't really a family man." Harley tickles the young tot's belly, "Where's mommy? Where's mommy?" She then turns the child towards Talia, "There's mommy! And I can guess who daddy is," Harley finishes in a cold voice, "The big jerk."  
  
Ivy is still clutching at her side, the wound throbbing violently, "Yes Harl, we can guess who the father is…"  
  
"And you would be mistaken," Talia responds with an eloquence and grace that would put any member of royalty to shame. She gently caresses the child's head, "You must leave. Follow the path; it leads to the surface and a small craft…"  
  
"…and the goon squad…" Harley remarks with disdain.  
  
Talia takes her hand away from the yawning infant and moves towards the wall, "They have been disposed of by he who is loyal to me."  
  
Harley is unconvinced as she continues to question everything Talia mentions, "Who?"  
  
Talia bites her tongue, "He whom I sent to slay you, to save my beloved…"  
  
Harley's face grows red with anger, "You sent that sword slashin' psycho? You wanted him to knock me off? Why you…if I wasn't holding the kid…!"  
  
"Don't you understand? My beloved knew you were given the immortal serum of the Lazarus Pit, a serum which my father has refined by adding an ingredient to make the human mind weak and malleable to his will! You were destined to betray your comrades and I could not allow that!"  
  
"But drugs don't work on me, you little…!"  
  
"Easy Harley, down girl," Ivy motions, "She didn't know that, did you Talia?"  
  
Talia shakes her head ever so slightly, "I apologize. The Lazarus Pit is still a mystery to science and may have functioned while the additive failed, whereas I believed both had you under their sway. I only did what I thought was best, as I do now. Please take good care of him…little Beal…"  
  
Ivy gives Talia a grim, commanding frown, "You're coming with us."  
  
In answer Talia depresses a secreted button on the wall and it rotates on hidden gears, "I wish I were." Before either Ivy or Harley could make a move, Talia is gone.  
  
"Well, that was unexpected," Harley notes in a humbug fashion. She turns to Ivy, the slumbering child in her arms, "It's your call Red, what do you want to do?"  
  
Ivy winces in pain as a faint echo of thought passes through her brain from across the sea, 'Two forces set against each other, divide and conquer, a very old and effective strategy…unless one side knows of the plan…'  
  
…  
  
Bruce Wayne could feel the change in the air about him as he continues onwards, his mind nagged by a festering conundrum that he can't seem to answer. There's something disheartening about this, something about this path, this dangerous trek through the darkened corridor…  
  
He pauses and peers into the inky blackness towards the archway, making out a familiar silhouette. It's like clockwork; with every third arch a guard is stationed. With every guard he faces an adversary with skill that rivals his own. With each battle he finds his resolve diminished ever so slightly, his muscles aching just that much more, and his precious resources being depleted. And yet he's managed to dispatch each one, and with each routed foe he's been tempted to stare underneath their mask, and each time he's thought better. He can surmise what's underneath, fantastic as it may be, and it disturbs him to no end.  
  
The guard's heightened senses could feel it in the air, a slight change in pressure signalling the arrival of an unwanted presence. He draws forth his blade and saunters to one side, taking silent steps towards the blackness, and Bruce Wayne. A sudden, rapid cut of air is taken, cleaving nothing more than hairs as Bruce dips down. He then gives the guard a tremendous uppercut, sending him back a few paces. A thin sheen of blue then streaks across the darkened hall and strikes the dazed guard before he can react, encasing him in a clear sheath of ice. Yes, Bruce has defeated each one, with a little help…  
  
Bruce glances at the weapon in his hand. Built on principles from Mr. Freeze's own design, it is just as capable of stopping someone cold in their tracks as its larger parent. It's a weapon that has gotten him this far, but no farther it seems. The red indicator is now flashing incessantly to signify the weapon's charge has been spent and that it's nothing more than dead weight now. Tossing it aside he makes his way forward to the end of the corridor, and Ra's al Ghul. His arduous passage near completion he takes a moment to gather himself. He's sweating profusely and could even feel the moist warmth penetrating through his mask. He frowns, tempted to remove the latex façade of his own face to cover those scars he would sooner forget, but thinks better of it. He will simply have to grin and bear it. With a heavy sigh Bruce Wayne depresses the entry button and the door hums as it slides open. He enters the well lit room cautiously, slowly, and finds it bare save for the far end. There his quarry stands at the ready, rapiers in both hands.  
  
"Come in, detective," Ra's gestures, "It is as it should be, you and I, no outside distractions. Shall we begin?"  
  
"I have no weapon," Bruce remarks.  
  
"Oh?" Ra's grins, glancing at the bright yellow belt about Bruce's waist, "How forgetful of me." He gingerly tosses one rapier to Bruce's waiting hand. Bruce takes several cuts in the air to weigh its balance.  
  
"You approve?"  
  
Bruce nods.  
  
"Excellent!" Ra's calls as the two of them begin circling one another, "I must warn you, detective, I have been preparing for this moment." Ra's takes a preliminary stab at Bruce, who parries it expertly. Ra's nods his approval, "Very good. I've always preferred the blade, detective. In the proper hands it can be eloquent…swift, silent, deadly and to the point, if you will…"  
  
"Unlike you," Bruce smirks, taking a swift thrust of his own which Ra's blocks with ease. Bruce takes a few steps back.  
  
Ra's is not amused, "Do you know the depth of the task you've just undertaken, detective? I fear you've never fully realized. The Lazarus Pit is a curious wonder, one in which the very essence of life can be transformed into a complete whole. My daughter must have provided you with details of my experiments, as she's want to do. I've taken creatures, limbs, ground bones and even a single drop of blood, and each time the Pit restored life to a whole. I am of the Pit, detective," Ra's grins, "You cannot succeed."  
  
"And the Lazarus Pit traces in Harley's bloodstream?" Bruce asks as the two enter a battle stance.  
  
"Ah," Ra's pauses, "As you've probably known from the start, thanks to Talia, I've procured a concoction that makes slaves of men from a…mutual source. He must have obtained a sample of the Pit and used it on the girl; although why he would I do not know. Fear not, once you are eliminated I shall slay the thieving troll myself. Such unmitigated gall shall not go unpunished!"  
  
Ra's drives forward at Bruce, who parries each blow.  
  
"Excellent, your skills have not diminished in the least. This shall be a battle for the ages!" And he strikes again with a swift cut through the air that Bruce ducks, only to be kneed in the face. Bruce staggers back, his nose dripping blood.  
  
"Dirty pool, I know," Ra's frowns, "But one must do what one will to draw first blood. After all, that is why you've come, is it not? My blood? Normally you are content with destroying my plan for global genocide, after which you scurry back to that hole beneath the earth you call home. But now is different, why? You killed the Joker, did you not? And now you have turned to number two…"  
  
Ra's drives forward and Bruce parries the thrust with his blade. He then follows through with a punch on Ra's' nose with his free hand. This time Ra's staggers back and Bruce grins, "Tit-for-tat, Ra's. I didn't come for you; I came for Talia's son, Beal."  
  
Ra's smiles right back, uncaring about the blood trickling down his lip, "Beal?" And the Demon's Head laughs, "I would never harm a hair on my grandson's head, nor my daughter for that matter. He is as safe with me as he is with you, detective. Beal. You just continue to tell yourself that detective, but I can see the true driving force in your eyes, I can see the bloodlust…"  
  
This time it's Bruce who lunges forward, and Ra's is waiting. His rapier skins across the shoulder as Bruce tackles the Demon's Head. Ra's falls on his back and uses Bruce's own momentum to hurl him backwards into the wall. Bruce manages to twist midair and slow his flight enough that he lands on his feet mere inches from the wall. He grasps his shoulder and looks at the blood on his palm. Ra's leaps to his feet and presses his advantage, trying for a killing thrust. Bruce sidesteps it at the last moment and Ra's' sword tip is embedded in the wall. Bruce cuts the air with his own blade and Ra's falls backwards to avoid the strike, using the momentum of his fall to draw his own trapped blade from the wall. Bruce slashes downwards but Ra's rolls away. Ra's then cuts at Bruce's legs, only to watch his potential victim leap over the blow. Ra's takes the moment to rise to his feet and tries for a strike of his own. Bruce blocks the attack with his sword, but Ra's presses and the blades draw close to Bruce's face.  
  
"A duel of skill is no place for anger, detective. It requires finesse…strategy," Ra's mutters through clenched teeth, "Beyond this room is the largest Lazarus Pit I have ever constructed. My horde was fashioned from it, detective, with blood donated by a most eager participant. Each member identical to the last…immersed in immortal waters…completely under my control…an army of perfection..."  
  
"Madness!" Bruce yells as he thrusts Ra's back with newfound strength. He touches his bloody shoulder once more and shudders, 'A most eager participant.'  
  
"Yes," Ra's answers as he balances himself, "Of course I let Talia keep one of them. Anything to make a daughter happy, you understand..."  
  
Bruce growls as he dives at Ra's once more, and this time Ra's avoids the attack all together and cuts a deep slash across Bruce's back as he passes by. Bruce turns and barely blocks another slash aimed for his chest. Ra's then punches him in the gut and kicks him once more in the face, sending him reeling backwards.  
  
"Such eagerness," Ra's comments as he wipes Bruce's blood on his sleeve in an effort to clean his blade, "From eloquence to bloodbath, what a disappointment. Where's your mask, detective? You've always fought with such tenacity when that ridiculous cowl was upon your brow. Not like this…this buffoon. Such a pity…"  
  
Ra's drives forward at the exhausted Bruce Wayne. Although Bruce tries to parry, it is done so less successfully with every thrust, jab, cut and slash. Bruce could feel his life's blood leaving him as Ra's presses on, until Bruce finds himself up against the wall. With a twist of his rapier Ra's cleaves the utility belt in twain, and a second rapid slice flips Bruce's weapon out of his hand and to one side. Ra's steps back for one moment before drawing his sword up and pointing it square at Bruce's chest, "Farewell Bruce."  
  
So enamoured were they by conflict that they did not notice Talia's presence until it is too late. Within the blink of an eye she is in-between the two combatants, the pointed blade now squarely pointed at her heart, "No father! I cannot allow this! I love him, and if you love me, as you claim to, then you shall let him be!"  
  
Ra's shakes his head ever so slightly, his eyes narrowing, "He is my enemy and must be destroyed. You know this…you've always known. Now step aside daughter."  
  
"No."  
  
"I said, step aside."  
  
"No," she whispers, looking her father straight in the eye.  
  
Ra's' demeanour changes then, and his visage begins to soften. Talia is about to breathe a sigh of relief when his face contorts into a twisted form of rage and Ra's screams as he drives the blade home! So furious is his thrust that the point passes through Talia and lodges itself in Bruce as well! With a whimper Ra's pulls the blade out and watches his daughter's limp body crash to the floor. Bruce merely slides down the wall, smearing it with his own blood until he lands, sitting upright, one hand trying to stem the loss of blood as he whispers, "Your own daughter…"  
  
Ra's actually manages a grin as he bends down to look at her still features, "Come now, I expected better of you young man. I've only to carry her a few meters to the Lazarus Pit and she will live anew. Granted she never wanted to immerse herself in the pit, claiming that it distorts the senses, but it is no longer her choice to make. As for you…" Ra's grips his blade tightly, rises and turns, expecting to see an exasperated Bruce Wayne barely clinging to life. Instead he's met with a hideously marred visage, Bruce's true face beneath the mask, with its grotesque scarring forming a permanent, bizarre grin. Ra's is stunned by the sight, "Good lord man! Your face!"  
  
Bruce takes the momentary distraction to toss a small bat shaped dart procured from his discarded mask at Ra's with an unerring accuracy. It embeds itself in Ra's' jugular and pumps potent toxins into his veins. Within moments Ra's could feel his muscles begin to spasm and tighten. He drops to his knees and tries to reach for the dart. With a Herculean effort he manages to grasp and remove it, but by then it already is too late. The drug has taken its toll and he is frozen to the spot, and although his senses remain as sharp as ever his muscles are trapped in a form of rigor mortis. He watches in amazement as Bruce grasps his nearby sword and slides himself against the wall with his legs pushing on the ground, forcing himself to stand. With sheer willpower he makes his way towards Ra's al Ghul, blade in hand and a fiery glare in his eyes.  
  
"No mask? Heh," Bruce whispers as he saunters forward, "What's a Demon, Ra's," he pauses as he raises the blade back, "without a Head?" And the sword comes down. A sick sound is heard, the type of noise that one might hear in a slaughterhouse when a hunk of meat is cleaved in twain, and Ra's' body topples over.  
  
Bruce then drops his sword and falls as well, his face meeting Talia's. Remarkably she's still alive and manages a faint, "Beloved…" before closing her eyes for the final time. He tries to reach for her but doesn't have the strength. He sighs, "My fault Talia…everything…my fault…forgive me," and the world fades to oblivion as the entire island slowly sinks beneath the waves…  
  
TO BE CONTINUED… 


	9. Interlude

Chapter 9: Interlude  
  
The Story Thus Far: Commissioner Gordon and Det. Bullock are saved by a seemingly turned Two-Face, much to Penguin's dismay. Two-Face claims to have been framed in regards to the arson on Gordon's home, but before he can reveal the name of the mastermind behind it all, the 'Shaftie' strikes. Bullets have little effect on the creature and the situation appears grim until Batgirl intervenes. The creature then changes tactics, lashing out at the Commissioner and forcing Batgirl to sacrifice herself to save Gordon's life. As the creature turns its attention to Dent and Bullock, an irate Gordon removes a fire axe and lops off the Shaftie's head! Yet the creature still lives! As they flee with Batgirl Dent ignites the building hoping it'll take care of the creature. Naturally, during the confusion Penguin escapes; Meantime on Ra's al Ghul's island fortress, Harley and Ivy meet Talia's baby boy, Beal. They are given a safe exit by Talia before she leaves them; Elsewhere on the island Ra's al Ghul and Bruce Wayne meet and subsequently begin to duel. During battle Ra's reveals his plan to create a horde of assassins with the Lazarus Pit, from blood cells donated by an 'eager participant.' This perfect army would then be used to raze the earth, allowing nature to regain control over her lost sphere. Bruce notices he's a bloody mess at this point. Ra's also gave a horde member to Talia to do with as she pleased for good measure. Bruce loses it here and Ra's takes advantage. Just before he's to deliver the killing blow Talia jumps in-between them and pleads for Bruce's life. Ra's ultimately runs the blade through both Talia and Bruce. He can revive Talia later in the Lazarus Pit, but as for Bruce…in a remarkable turnaround Bruce manages to paralyze Ra's with a drugged dart he had secreted on his person. Ra's can only watch as Bruce struggles to his feet and with a final burst of adrenaline he gives Ra's the unkindest cut of all. His task done, Bruce falls back "and the world fades to oblivion…"  
…  
  
Slowly, ever so slowly, he could feel the warmth of the sun's rays upon his brow, and his eyes could discern a field of tranquil blue spotted with small puffs of white. Now he could hear as well, as the sound of lapping waves striking a small wooden craft encroach upon his senses. The smell of the salt sea air and his still hand bobbing upon the cool water tell him where he is. There is such idle withdrawal, such serenity and peace in his once addled mind, as if he has been born again and the whole world been made clear. He moves his head down from the sky allowing his eyes to fix upon the other occupants of the tiny craft. The blonde girl, her lips curled in a mischievous grin as she bounces a tiny babe upon her knee. 'How appropriate,' he muses. And to her right the red head, who still clutches at her side, looking on at the pair in bemused silence. He stirs and she's the first to notice.  
  
"Welcome back to the land of the living," she comments with a grin.  
  
"Look baby!" Harley smiles as she turns the child round on her knee so it could face the rousing stranger, "Daddy!"  
  
Even in his dazed state Bruce knew, "I'm not his father…"  
  
Harley frowns at him, "Well geez, the least you could do is smile for the kid. He's had a rough day, you know."  
  
"Smile?" he wonders aloud, his fingers running across his face. Stunned, he peers over the side of the small craft and at the clear blue reflection beneath. They were gone, the scars, the hideous scars that had left his face contorted in a permanent, vile grin. 'The Lazarus Pit,' he thinks, looking at the two women before him. They who were once among his most mortal enemies, THEY gave him life anew…and he begins to remember, everything…  
  
"Talia?" he asks, still unable to comprehend how this had happened.  
  
Ivy shakes her head, "When we finally found you she was gone. The whole island was sinking and we didn't have time to look for her. We just managed to dump you in the Pit that Ghul mentioned. We weren't sure if we left you in long enough…we thought…" she stops short.  
  
Bruce can remember the sensation of cold steel slashing flesh, "And Ra's?"  
  
Ivy takes a quick glance at Harley and frowns, unsure what how to tell him, "He…won't be coming back…"  
  
"How do you feel, boss?" Harley jumps in, desperate for a change in subject.  
  
He looks down at the child and manages a smile, "Strangely…forgiven."  
  
"Forgiven, huh?" she nods back, "For what…by whom?"  
  
He stays silent.  
  
Harley grins, "Well, I guess it doesn't matter. I mean, it's good to be forgiven. It can make you feel good, being forgiven, and its good you feel good, it really is. I'm glad you feel good because that's healthy, and it's important to stay healthy. Do you know what isn't healthy, boss?"  
  
He shakes his head.  
  
"Being stuck on a raft in the middle of the Atlantic with no help in sight! Now do something!"  
  
He smiles and winks at Ivy. He then leans towards Harley, "What's that?"  
  
"What's what?" she inquires, her eyes darting about. Bruce reaches with one hand to the side of her head as he answers, "That thing behind your ear."  
  
"What thing? I'm clean, I swear!"  
  
Bruce pulls his hand back and shows it to Harley. Within its grasp is a tiny chip card, its metallic bits glistening in the sun's light. Beal giggles as Harley fumes, "That wasn't very funny…I'm sensitive about my ears, you know…"  
  
"What is it?" Ivy questions.  
  
"Plan B," Bruce grins as he depresses the button on the card, "Ra's had enough dampers within his base to prevent its use earlier, but that's not a problem now. We're going home…" And a shimmering blue light enshrouds the four of them, growing in intensity every second until one can no longer see the tiny craft's occupants. Then it's gone, leaving an empty boat behind bobbing gently on idle waters…  
  
…  
  
"I hate hospitals, you know."  
  
Det. Harvey Bullock sits back on the waiting room chair, his pudgy thumbs twiddling nervously about one another. Seated next to him is an elderly gentleman, his silvery grey hairs and wrinkled brow demonstrating years of experience, his cane showing that not all of them were pleasant. The senior gent merely nods at the restless detective understandingly, "Do tell."  
  
"Sure," Bullock answers in a snap, "You know these places are death traps. Just coming through them doors halves your chance of living. I've lost more buddies in here than I'd care to count, and it seems like that's all that ever goes on. Death and disease, that's all. And you know the worst part?" The old man shakes his head. "They won't let you smoke in 'em!"  
  
The old man sighs as a nearby nurse calls his name. He tries for his feet and feels Bullock's arm about his shoulder, helping him up. He smiles warmly to the detective, "Thank you kindly young man. I hope that your friend feels better soon."  
  
Bullock gives a puzzled look back, "Friend?"  
  
"Yes, that large fellow you came in with, the one with the bad burns on half his face. My, if anyone needed help, he does."  
  
Bullock's flabbergasted as he searches about in desperation, and his features become crestfallen when the object of his search is nowhere to be found, "Oh geez! Damn! Okay…I mean…geez!"  
  
"Didn't see him go in, eh?" the frail gent pipes up, "He should be right through there." The old man points towards a single door, its speckled glass window preventing any observation from the outside. "See you later…detective," the old man grins as he hobbles off.  
  
Bullock doesn't waste a second and sprints to the door. He then shakes the doorknob violently, to no avail. Surmising the situation he takes a few steps back and inhales deeply. With one hand on his gun he charges the door, splintering its lock and smashing it on the wall, his success marked by a rain of shattered glass. He draws his gun forth and screams, "Freeze!"  
  
Before him is a sickening sight, of blood running down from the bifurcated brow of Two-Face, who jumps at Bullock's brash entrance. Next to Two-Face are several crimson covered tools, one of which he's only recently discarded. Bullock can't understand what it is he sees, "What the hell are you doing?"  
  
"Yes," a familiar voice calls from behind Bullock, "What are you doing?"  
  
Bullock whirls about and is greeted by the Commissioner, whose body is a mishmash of patches and bandages, his once stern countenance now accompanied by pain, his clothing still smeared with the blood spilt last night. Gordon gently taps Bullock on the shoulder, "Why don't you check if the perimeter is secure, then meet us on the roof. Ten minutes."  
  
Bullock withdraws in a huff. After a few steps he then pauses and turns towards the Commissioner, "How's she doing Commish?"  
  
"The doctors say she'll live, thank God," Gordon wavers back, "Now get going detective, and secure the perimeter. I don't want anyone even touching the mask, you got me?"  
  
"Sure," he grumbles as he resumes his trek. Gordon then turns to Harvey Dent and tries to ignore the blood as he speaks, "We're leaving."  
  
Two-Face is in a foul mood as he rises. He dons his two toned hat as he and the Commissioner begin to walk, "The roof?"  
  
Gordon answers as they walk towards the elevator, shying away from his companion's face, "Of course the roof, Harvey. There's only about 3 or 4 dozen reporters outside, waiting like vultures to pick at the carcass. So instead of wading through them we're going to circle overhead. Now, what were you doing in there?"  
  
Two-Face chooses to ignore the question and stays silent for the moment.  
  
Gordon raises an eyebrow at this. He decides to take a different tact, "Allen's file folder made it clear that the Asylum's our man's base of operations. That he's up to something…something monumental…" he trails off, hoping Dent would bite.  
  
Two-Face is growing more agitated with each step, "Don't bother with the swerve Jim, to get us talking before you ask the same damned question, hoping to catch us off-guard. Remember, we were a lawyer, once."  
  
"We…?" Gordon growls under his breath, "You're supposed to be helping us damn it! What's wrong with you?"  
  
"Oswald's still out there…" and Two-Face snickers.  
  
"Harvey," Gordon says softly as the elevator doors open to allow them onboard, "The Penguin wouldn't try anything now."  
  
"No," Two-Face smirks, "Not normally…" Two-Face removes his hat, revealing a grotesque gash running across the center of his scalp. He then reaches into his pocket and removes a tiny, blood smeared microchip that the Commissioner recognizes immediately, "…but then again, he isn't himself."  
  
The Commissioner gasps in amazement, "A mind control device!"  
  
Two-Face nods in agreement, "The Riddler struck Oswald and us before our escape. We caught on and have now removed our chip, but Oswald hasn't. He's still out there…"  
  
"Us…?" Gordon frowns as he finally realizes the truth. He suddenly grabs a hold of Two-Face's shoulders and begins to shake him violently, screaming at the top of his lungs, "Snap out of it damn it! Snap out of it! There's no us, no we! Just Harvey Dent, okay? Just the man who's been helping us, the man who got Allen to work for him, the man who investigated the Asylum in the first place! Pull yourself together, we need you!" He lets go and Harvey Dent slumps to the elevator's floor.  
  
The giant begins to weep, the tears streaming down his unmarred side, his scarred side remaining resolute, "I'm sorry Jim, so sorry. I had Two-Face under control for so long, but when the chip was implanted he nearly…nearly…go away, Dent…I just couldn't kill…it's not your turn, Dent… I wouldn't let him do it…played us for a fool, Dent, balance the scales…CAN'T KILL!" and for a moment there is silence.  
  
Harvey Dent sobs, "I had to take it out…I couldn't risk his influence any longer, barely held in check…I had to regain control…I wasn't ready…wasn't ready…"  
  
"Easy Harvey, easy, you're among friends now," the Commissioner whispers sympathetically as the elevator begins its ascent.  
  
"He seems stronger now, Jim," Dent mutters pathetically, "I don't know how much longer I can keep him down…I can't…"  
  
"Easy Harvey, just a little longer; don't give up after having come so far," and Gordon taps him reassuringly on the shoulder.  
  
Harvey Dent can only stare blankly at the wall before him as the Commissioner's words pass through like a faint echo, "So far…so good? Yet Allen was good, a good cop, he believed me, he was going to save the asylum for me…now he's dead. Bruce Wayne, he's good too, he wouldn't believe me but he said he'd contact Batman, for old time's sake, that he'd help…help that never came. He forgot all about me…"  
  
Dent takes a deep sigh and wipes away the tears, "Our adversary's good, Gordon, very good. He's somehow kept Batman out of the picture while having us run around like fools for his amusement. Your home, my escape and arson spree, all double blinds to keep the police looking in all the wrong places while chasing the wrong people, leaving him free to work. The Shaftie was his insurance policy, sent to dissuade any nosy cops or bureaucrats in dark, unkempt alleys. He never wanted murder though, not unless absolutely necessary. Murder raises suspicion in all the wrong people, believe me, I know, but Allen…Allen made it necessary. The Shaftie then must have found the clue I'd left for Allen, a meeting place and time, and it stopped by to ensure that everything was going according to plan and if it wasn't, to…fix it. His plan's near fruition, Jim, to the point of no return, to the point where murder is needed…wanted…Allen's murder…your murder…my murder…death all round 'til none can be found…"  
  
"That chip, the Mad Hatter made those. Only he's long dead," Gordon manages as the elevator comes to a halt. He sighs, "Then it must be the Riddler, using the Hatter's equipment." The doors open and Gordon glances upwards at the police helicopter, its searchlight barely visible. It is midday but the sky is black and slick with rain, this won't be a pleasure ride. Gordon turns towards Dent and helps him up, "But his riddle? I thought it was referring to you and Allen?"  
  
Dent ignores the light and continues, "It was, Jim, it was. You found me and now know about his entire plan, the riddle was key, as always."  
  
"Not quite," Gordon sputters, "We don't know what he's planned, or how soon he's going to pull it off. If we've got any chance of stopping this, of putting an end to it once and for all, we have to act now!"  
  
The helicopter settles down on the hospital's helipad and the two of them wait briefly for Bullock's arrival before they proceed.  
  
"And you, Harvey?" Gordon asks sombrely, the rain whipping into his face, "What do you want?"  
  
Dent looks down at his hands, one that's scarred and twisted, and the other that is smooth and natural. "I've always been more of the dark than the light, even though on the outside I am evenly split. I tossed a coin to determine my actions, but how often did I make it two out of three? Three out of five? Dear lord, how often?" He whimpers and looks up at the rain swept sky, "With Grace gone there was nothing left. Nothing, not even hope. She was the light, Jim, the anchor, and if I ever wanted to see her again…"  
  
Dent composes himself as Bullock arrives on the scene. As they make their way to the helicopter Dent completes his narrative in a low, pathetic voice, "So far…on a wing and a prayer…"  
  
TO BE CONTINUED… 


	10. Siege

Chapter 10: Siege  
  
The Story Thus Far: Bruce Wayne is alive and well after his latest encounter with Ra's al Ghul thanks to a quick dip in the Lazarus Pit provided by Harley and Ivy. He's silent on his death experience, and they are almost as silent on the events following his demise, aside from the obvious fact that they have Talia's son, Beal, with them. On Harley's urging Bruce takes them away from the mid-Atlantic via a JLA teleportation device that was secreted on his person; Meanwhile in Gotham General Hospital, Det. Bullock barges in on a secluded Two-Face who appears to have performed surgery upon himself. Commissioner Gordon intervenes and asks Bullock to check the perimeter, and on the fallen Batgirl. Gordon quizzes Two-Face on what he was doing and is given the cold shoulder. Gordon isn't amused, and when Two-Face answers with "we" and "us" instead of "me" and "I" Gordon tries to shock him back to normal. It works as Harvey Dent's persona reasserts itself, submerging Two-Face. Dent explains that he was all but shut out since the Riddler inserted a tiny mind control device in his skull, and it was all he could do to keep Two-Face from completely taking control and going on a much less restrained rampage. He only recently removed the chip, mere moments before Bullock's interruption. Regardless, even with a restrained rampage Two-Face and Penguin still managed to instil misdirection among the police for their master, while he completed his plan. They then make it to the roof where a police helicopter is waiting to take them to the asylum, and the Riddler…  
…  
  
Up above there is a driving downpour with dark storm clouds expunging their mass upon the ground. Rain droplets seep into the already moistened soil, penetrating a few layers of earthen nature. A chill wetness is the only testament to the torrents above a few meters farther down, and if one dug even further there would be nary a sign at all. All would be tranquil and serene within nature's folds. Even here, in a cave of incredible girth, there isn't a clue to the insanity without.  
  
Unexpectedly an iridescent blue light builds throughout the cave as if from nowhere, followed by a thin whine in the background. If any witnesses were present they would soon be able to make out several figures emerging in the midst of the light, each a prime human specimen. As the blue light fades Bruce Wayne makes his way towards the Batcave nerve center, leaving Ivy and Harley to contemplate their trip.  
  
"Oh vey," Harley croaks, her cheeks starting to bulge, "That's not good. Do you mind holding the kid for a sec, Red?" she asks hurriedly, not even waiting for an answer before tossing the child in Ivy's arms. She runs into a darkened corner of the cave and makes very uncomfortable noises. Ivy smirks, "Looks like teleportation doesn't agree with Auntie Harley, does it Beal?" and they head off after Bruce.  
  
Ivy's wound is still tender, although the Justice League headquarters' medical facilities did an excellent job of mending. She still finds it incredible that they didn't encounter another human being during their brief stay, but as Bruce stated, "It's a big place, and they'll only see us when I want them to." She thinks those words could also be used in regards to the Batcave.  
  
Beal and Ivy arrive to a large, well lit steel platform, housing several computers and even old paper file folders. On the monitors are flickering images of Two-Face, Penguin, Riddler, Joker, Mad Hatter, Scarecrow and various other rogues. She nears the image of Two-Face and frowns, her mind attuning to his as she attempts to gather what information she can. She's already performed it once before, at the JLA Citadel, and what she provided to Bruce set him to earth in a flash. This time there is nothing new, save for the fact that Two-Face and his party are en route to the asylum…  
  
She feels a cold hand upon her shoulder and gasps, instinctively tightening her hold on the infant in her arms. She turns with a start, and the sight that greets her is no more comforting. Where Bruce Wayne was a creature now stands before her, black as night with long, pointed ears that may have been forged by Lucifer himself. The creature smiles at her fear, it's been a long time…  
  
…  
  
High above the Gotham skyline a solitary police helicopter struggles its way through the fetid night, shimmying and sighing with every gust of gale. The pilot is a seasoned veteran, his nerves are like steel and he will neither yield nor bend to the storm. Using every ounce of skill at his disposal the helicopter stays the course, drawing ever closer to the asylum. And then he sees it, as bizarre a sight as could be expected; a plump little man with a long nose and top hat floating in the air, in one hand is an umbrella-handle leading up to a set of rotating blades, at best it could be described as a miniature helicopter. In the other is a closed umbrella, its tip pointing at the police helicopter's cockpit. Most of all the pilot will remember the eyes, those vapid pupils whose stare was one of pure death, the kind of eyes that whisper death on a night when only monsters come out to play. The pilot is about to call out when the umbrella tip explodes and a hail of bullets pierce through the cockpit glass, riddling the pilot with their lethal tips. He slumps in his seat and the co-pilot screams.  
  
In the passenger hold Det. Harvey Bullock is equally taken aback, "Geez!"  
  
"Swing us about!" Commissioner Gordon screams at the co-pilot as he rushes to the cockpit, "Don't let him get another clear shot! Do it!"  
  
His nerves shot, the co-pilot does his best to comply. Penguin's assault now strikes the hull of the craft and the bullets ricochet harmlessly off the steel exterior, but only just.  
  
Bullock yells out as he grabs his gun, "Get us down! He's gonna bust through and kill us all if we don't get down!" There is only a sad whimper from the co-pilot and Bullock turns away. He grabs a hold of the cabin door and gives a hard tug on the latch, unlocking it. With his unarmed hand he tries to open the door with no success.  
  
Harvey Dent then rises up from his seat. He pulls on the side door of the craft and draws it open for Bullock. Bullock rolls to one side of the opening and Dent to the other as Penguin fires another volley through the hatch.  
  
"Come on you bastard, reload," Bullock growls, "Reload!"  
  
The gunfire abruptly ceases and Bullock fires back at the cagey bird. Penguin's tiny little craft darts back and forth as he reaches for another umbrella on his belt. Penguin then opens fire once more, this time advancing towards the craft as he fires, his bullets starting to cause some serious damage as parts begin to spume smoke.  
  
"He's moving too fast, I can't get a bead!" Bullock screams, "Straighten up!"  
  
"I can't!" the co-pilot yells back, regaining some of his nerve, "If I do he'll just come to the front again! He'll come after me!"  
  
Gordon sighs heavily, he can't fly a helicopter and so he's powerless here. He also knows that if the Penguin manages to get onboard, in his current state, he could very well kill them all!  
  
As Penguin continues to advance, Harvey Dent takes a deep breath and rises to his feet. "Time to do something stupid…" and he dives through the opening just as he sees the Penguin's umbrella tip peek through. Several slugs riddle his body, yet somehow he manages to grab a hold of the Penguin. Bleeding profusely he struggles to seize the miniature helicopter in the cagey bird's hand.  
  
"Give it up Oswald," he sputters as his added weight forces the Penguin to relax his grip, "Don't you know, penguins can't fly…" and the Penguin's hand lets go. Together the two plummet earthward as the rotating blades fly upwards, neither combatant making a sound as they disappear into the blackness below.  
  
Onboard the police helicopter Bullock is aghast, "Son of a bitch! Son of a…"  
  
"What?" Gordon yells, seeing Harvey Dent is now missing, "What happened?"  
  
"Just land the thing," a clearly riled Bullock mumbles, "We've got a job to finish…"  
  
…  
  
Her fear has been replaced with a feeling of deep loss as she looks at the creature before her, "Bruce…" Her face contorts into anguish as she tries to make a sense of this sensation, "…Harvey…Harvey's gone…"  
  
And just like that his mood is changed: From a creature of the night to a broken, dishevelled man in the blink of an eye. He falls back into a waiting chair. His cape and cowl providing little comfort he removes them and stares at the empty mask in his hand, "I only wore it for seconds… just seconds…and already…"  
  
"It's not your fault," she whispers sensitively.  
  
"Don't even try, Ivy, don't even waste your breath," he replies in the voice of a defeated man, "I should have been on this case from the beginning, I should have made this my priority. Instead I went after Ra's, why? Why couldn't I do the right thing, just this once? He came to me, damn it, he came to me for help! Why?"  
  
She kneels before him, holding the tiny infant within Bruce's gaze, "You had to save him, Bruce, that's why; you had to save Beal for Talia."  
  
Bruce Wayne turns away in disgust with himself, "You don't understand, Ra's was right. He was right all along. Beal would have been safe for months, years, before Ra's would bother shaping him. And Ra's' plan was still nowhere near completion; there was time…there WAS time! He was right all along, I did it all for myself, for that damned lust in my eyes that would let everyone go to hell so long as I was the one that SPILT THEIR BLOOD…" and he slides towards the console to stare at the rogues. After a second he groans before depressing one button to change the images into those of Robin, Nightwing, Huntress and the original Batgirl. His head then falls onto the console's surface and he shrouds himself around his black covered sleeves, "Good lord…what have I become?"  
  
She rises slowly, softly, and makes her way to his side, sitting adjacent to him. She looks at him with a worried expression before beginning to speak, "One of us Bruce, that's what you've become, that's probably what you've always been…just in a different vein is all. It doesn't have to stay that way, though…"  
  
He stays silent, immersed in self pity. She frowns at him and looks over the console. Typing in several letters into the search engine she pulls up a file all too familiar to her. Hitting the enter key she displays the file on the screen. An image of herself appears in her more sinister past light. She nudges him, still holding the babe in her arms, "57, Bruce, your own file says so. FIFTY-SEVEN! They weren't like yours either, Bruce, these were real, these were intentional, and these were by my hand. No second hand death like with the Joker, no attempted murder of an immortal, no slaughter of a soulless mockery of life army; just real, loving, healthy people dying…sometimes before my very eyes…" she looks away from the monitor and stares at the child, "but that was then, I'm not like that anymore. I'm not saying it's easy, I still see the faces…I always will…you just don't have to add to the collage in your nightmares."  
  
Bruce has managed to raise his head as she continues, "Once I was that creature on the screen, but now…now I've managed to help save the world and am holding a chubby little tyke in my arms… life's a curious thing, isn't it?"  
  
…  
  
Even in daylight Arkham's Asylum for the Criminally Insane is an imposing structure, with its staggered stonework throughout the exterior, decaying wooden window sills and iron bars. Even its tall, jagged towers add to the effect by pointing to heaven as if to beg for salvation. It would send a shudder down any pedestrian's spine. Now picture a sky filled with black clouds and lightning bolts to give it an eerie light, with sheets of rain and crackles of thunder thrown in to heighten the effect, and you have the sight that greets Gotham's finest as they surround this most antiquitated of abodes. Each man's hand is shaking and none would blame them.  
  
At the center of the conflagration is the Commissioner, with his most trusted officer Det. Harvey Bullock at his side. Gordon has a megaphone in one hand and tries to think of something to say. Instead his mind wanders back to the sight of Batgirl's blood soaked body folded in his arms, and he freezes. It's his greatest fear, to lose another human being so near to him, and she's the closest thing to a living relative he has left in this God forsaken city…and she was bleeding to death in his arms…!  
  
He shakes it off and prepares to speak once more, and once more the image fills his mind…  
  
Next to him Bullock has his gun drawn and is waiting for the Commissioner to give the order. Within Arkham are hundreds of Gotham's most depraved minds, all likely under the control of a single, demanding taskmaster. If they're summoned to storm the building it may very well become a bloodbath for both sides. Many will die, inmate and cop alike. Inmates like Harvey Dent and cops like his partner, Det. Allen. Dent fell several stories to save their lives. Bullock would've wanted to search for him, to at least make peace with him, but the job takes precedent and the Commissioner sent a task force instead. And then there's Det. Allen, a cop Bullock thought was on the take and who turned out to be about as honest as possible. He fell several stories too, into a bloody mess, like how this rush is going to be. How many partners has he lost, Bullock wonders, how many more? It's now his greatest fear.  
  
He shakes it off and prepares for the assault, and once more the image fills his mind…  
  
And what of the officer whose hand is shaking, his gun bobbing with each spasm? He can recall a standoff similar to this on a night like unlike any other…a night where a child was caught in the line of fire. An accidental shooting it was ruled, tragic and impossible to prevent. He can see the small face each time he draws the gun. Each time he draws a bead it could happen again, it could happen tonight. It's his greatest fear…  
  
Gordon could see it occurring all about him, good men and women, respected veterans and novice rookies alike, each one is flush cold in sweat and shaking like a leaf. He's seen this before, why didn't he see it sooner?  
  
He closes his eyes and sees Batgirl's bleeding body once more as he mutters in a hoarse voice, "Scarecrow…"  
  
TO BE CONTINUED… 


	11. The Road to Redemption

Chapter 11: The Road to Redemption  
  
The Story Thus Far: Harley, Ivy, Bruce and Beal make it to the Batcave via JLA teleportation. Harley doesn't enjoy the ride and dishes Beal to Ivy before she runs off to, well, it isn't pleasant so let's move on. Ivy and Beal try to find Bruce, but locate the Batman instead; At the same time, Two-Face, Commissioner Gordon and Bullock are heading to the asylum after the Riddler when their helicopter is attacked by an umbrella blazing, flying Penguin. The pilot is killed, the co-pilot shaken, and just before Penguin is to administer his final assault Two-Face leaps from the copter and onto their foe, both of whom plummet earthward; Back in the Batcave Ivy learns of Two-Face's sacrifice through her ability to peruse other people's minds. She tells Batman, who takes it hard and feels responsible; Gordon and Bullock make it to the asylum with a contingent of Gotham's finest. They surround the place, knowing full well that Riddler could have the entire asylum under his sway. Before Gordon can issue an ultimatum they all feel the unadulterated sensation of that unequivocal paralyzer course through their system, fear…  
…  
  
The Batcave is a cavernous wonder, a well organized setting that houses everything one could imagine to battle the denizens of the underworld. Weapon test sites, training sites, garage, port and more, it can take your breath away, especially if you're visiting for the first time. There are more personal areas, however, ones to remind that this was never a sport but a death-defying task, one where the grim reaper would ultimately claim what he'd been cheated of.  
  
Within one corner of the cave is a well lit room lined with glass cases housing precious mementos of the trials, tribulations and triumphs of the Batman. An eclectic collection of clues and props used in fascinating crimes too numerous to mention, each is worth an extended glance by any patron of this bizarre museum. Currently its occupancy is two, a blonde haired woman who wades through the treasures with whimsy upon her face, her deceptively strong arms delicately carrying a tiny babe.  
  
"Would you look at this!" she exclaims in delight, "It's like some kind of bizarre museum. Tee-hee." She cavorts about the encasements haphazardly, stopping now and again to peruse the item inside, "You've got to wonder about a guy who keeps so many souvenirs baby. Either his head's too big for his mask, or his head needs reminding as to why he puts the mask on over and over and over..." she rolls her head about her shoulders repetitively and becomes dizzy in the process. She looks down at the child, "Oh baby! Please stop spinning!"  
  
Her bearings regained she continues with her chaotic tour. At each case she would gingerly lean over, lifting one leg in the air for balance, to allow Beal to gather an eyeful as she reads the description to him. He's more amused by the sound of her voice and her capering than anything else, but still she continues with a gleeful "Tee-hee" at the end of each narrative. She takes a cartwheel to another display, speaking to Beal as she twirls, "You know, I bet Mr. J has the most stuff in here. Let's count! You like numbers right? Everyone likes numbers. Well…everyone except Mr. J. Poor Numbers…"  
  
She stops before another case. Peering within she produces a huge grin, "So that's where it went!" With her free arm she pops open the case and removes the object of her desire, a large, red, wooden mallet which she rubs against her cheek affectionately. "Good ol' red eye! You were my favourite, boy. You know, I could whack and whack and whack a guy with this all day and it wouldn't even get a scratch! Not one!" She pauses and turns towards the child, "Not that I've whacked a lot of guys, I… 'ahem' …okay, moving on!" and with a playful wink she tosses the mallet behind her.  
  
Soon the pair find themselves nearing the end of their tour, Harley dutifully keeping her tally as accurate as possible in her mind, "See, I told you Mr. J would have the most stuff." Her attention then shifts to several large cases aligned in a row. Something about the display tells her it's different from all the others and she loses her grin. Taking a very serious glance at them and their contents she notes that each one has no plaque, no description, and just a single light to illuminate its grim cargo. She walks the line of them, observing empty costume after empty costume, each one growing smaller in size as she progresses until they are near childlike in stature. At the final one she stops. As she looks on at the neatly sewn 'R' upon the chest and its bright, cheerful colours something returns to her, something said to her ages ago about the costume, and the boy who wore it…and how he died…she turns away and grasps the child tight.  
  
For a moment in time she's frozen, unable to move, unable to breathe. Beal cries and she snaps out of it. She tries to speak, "If they…if they ever tell you something… something about him …please…please remember, it was before my time." The child looks at her inquisitively and her dour mood soon softens. Smiling at the baby she tickles his nose and he laughs, kicking his feet in appreciation, "You know what I'll never understand? How any self respecting mother could just pass their kid off like she did, especially one as cute as you." She tickles his feet now, and again he smiles. "I guess she thought she didn't have a choice, some guys just don't like children. I suppose she could have tried to run away with you," she sighs as she takes another quick glimpse at the display, shivering ever so slightly, "…some guys you can't run away from…"  
  
…  
  
"He's become even more dangerous than I could ever imagine."  
  
Bruce mutters this out loud as he slams shut a file folder. Taking one last look at the well lit computer terminal before him he lifts himself up from his seat and covers his head with a cowl and cape as black as the cave about him. He turns and is met by Ivy, "Where are you going?"  
  
The Batman tries to sidestep her, but she mirrors his every movement to impede his path. He could ask her to move, although it's unlikely she would. Perhaps a distraction is in order? "Where's Beal?"  
  
Ivy doesn't budge, folding her arms across her chest, "Harley has him. She's showing him around the cave. I answered your question, now you answer mine."  
  
He sighs and takes an acrobatic leap into the air. Twisting up and over Ivy's head he lands behind her onto a lower platform and proceeds on his path. Unfortunately for him Ivy had grasped his cape at the last moment and he is stuck. She's near irate, "After all the hell we've been through, after all we've said to each other, you still act like this! You ungrateful… insufferable…"  
  
"The asylum," he whispers, "I'm going to the asylum. He's there, waiting to raze the city. He's adapting, learning to use methods from the inmates and if I don't hurry…"  
  
She releases his cape as he turns to face her, and someway, somehow, he manages to smile at her, "You were right, Ivy…you were right. It doesn't have to be the same…it WON'T be the same…"  
  
"I know," she replies with a quiver in her voice as she draws nearer, "We can help."  
  
Although he stays still he tries to look away from her eyes, "I have to do this myself… I have to know, just this once, if I can do it the right way…" He pauses before whispering, "Please take good care of Beal."  
  
He's about to leave when she calls out. Leaping down at him she wraps her long, sultry arms about his neck. He's covered in armour and cloth, but she doesn't mind. She closes her eyes ever slightly and draws her ruby red lips to his, kissing him deeply, passionately. He then briefly grasps her waist around his arms as well, before forcing himself to pull away.  
  
"For luck," she smiles as he vanishes into the darkness, his exit marked by the roar of the Batmobile's engine in the distance. She then sits on the platform steps as Harley arrives with baby Beal bobbing in her arms, "Where's Mr. Personality gone to?"  
  
"It doesn't matter," Ivy mutters with a faint, half-hearted smile, "He'll come back. He always does."  
  
"Like on the island?" Harley interjects.  
  
Upon hearing those words Ivy drops her head onto her lap and covers her head with her hands, leaving Harley with an all knowing smile upon her lips, 'No interest? Who were you fooling Red?'  
  
"Come on baby," Harley whispers at the young babe, "Let's see if we can find some nice poison darts or explosives for you to play with. I don't think Auntie Ivy will be very good company for the time being…"  
  
…  
  
A sleek black vehicle of unparalleled speed streaks across open country roads, its tires gripping in even these slick conditions. As it flies it spews forth fallen dew to either side as each wheel cuts through the street. Rarely has this vehicle seen the light of day, and it is savouring even this briefest of encounters. Pushing forth on the pedal the driver causes the roadster to cleave through the paths beyond tolerance levels as it reaches the outskirts of the city, the township's eerie glow only adding fuel to the fire that drives it. The driver's nerves are unwavering as he navigates the soaked street, knowing full well the consequence should he fail. There's no time to spare.  
  
A crack of thunder overhead rouses his senses and he stabs heavily onto the brake, causing the car to skid to one side. It stops, leaving only scant inches from catastrophe. Beyond him are the city streets, congested and clogged with masses of hysteria and insanity. Cars are scattered about, with many set ablaze after careening through one another, their gasoline covered hides continuing to burn under the tear filled sky.  
  
And the people, dear lord, the people are scattered just as wildly, twisted and contorted in manic panic. Each is shivering, but not from the cold. Each is crying, but not from the pain. Some have leapt from windows in mad attempts to escape the demons chasing them; others have merely curled in the fetal position and clutch furiously at themselves, praying for it all to just go away…  
  
This leaves the Batman to face it all, the rain falling on his brow. He withdraws his grapple from the utility belt and fires. It takes hold of a nearby building and he reels himself into the air. He's already too late to stop the siege, but if he hurries, if he can trek across the sky to his goal, if he can ignore the mass of human misery below him, instead using each cry of anguish to boil his blood until it's ripe to strike at the fiend behind it all, then maybe, just maybe, the castle can be saved…  
  
…  
  
Although his trek could be measured along the conventional lines of hours, minutes and seconds, they are not his choice. To him there is only one unit he recognizes, that of an eternity for each leg of the journey was marred by screams and yells and tears of those lining the city streets, those whom he had sworn to protect…  
  
He falls to the ground just beyond the police barricade. They had surmised enough to lay a siege of their own, only it came too little, too late. Gingerly he crosses the barrier, careful to not agitate the writhing, wet mass of humanity around him any further. He walks slowly and surely, searching for the one man that matters among them. The rain is thick now and the light dim and dreary, leaving only spots of lightning as pure illumination. He continues forward to the very center of the conflagration where he finds his target slouched against the side of a police cruiser, his face the very definition of anguish.  
  
"Jim," he calls, bending down to greet his friend, "Hold on."  
  
Gordon takes one look at the caped crusader and sees the image of a beaten and bloodied girl wonder, "Batgirl…Cassandra…no…"  
  
"Cassandra?" Batman takes a moment to scan the surrounding rooftops and sees a familiar silhouette upon one of them. Smiling, he turns to his friend, "Cassandra's fine Jim, she's fine."  
  
"But she…you…"  
  
"She's fine, Jim," he reassures Gordon, patting him on the shoulder.  
  
"…you…you're not Cassandra…Bruce?"  
  
Batman grins slightly, "That's right old friend."  
  
"Bruce!" Gordon calls out, and for a moment his senses are clear, "It's the Riddler, in the asylum, he sent us against each other, or was it the Scarecrow… Dr. Arkham … the Shaftie …so confused…"  
  
Batman raises an eyebrow at the last name, "Shaftie?"  
  
Gordon is already returning to a state of delirium as he tries to answer, "Creature of brown blood… bullets won't stop it… nothing could… it could stretch and bend…it…it…NO…Batgirl…Cassandra…it…"  
  
Batman gently lifts his friend up and places him in the back seat of a police cruiser, out of the rain. If Batgirl were truly injured by this creature he shouldn't expect any aid from her, nor would he want any. She's strong, and this city will be hers when this whole, sordid affair is completed, but she cannot be a part of this endeavour. That would be suicide. He turns to the police cruiser and bids a final, silent farewell.  
  
He pauses and gauges the situation before him. Rain slicked shingles, bolts of electricity charging the air, and countless other surprises undoubtedly await anyone foolhardy enough to try to scale the towers. To satisfy his curiosity he reaches down and removes a batarang from his belt. With a sudden thrust it is aloft, flying towards one of the towers in a characteristic arc. It strikes the stone edifice and falls to the roof, sliding down and off the edge before landing at Batman's feet. He bends down and takes a closer look at his weapon. With index finger and thumb he gingerly raises it up before his eyes and notes a strange residue upon its surface. It ignites and with a start he drops the flame covered batarang upon the ground. It continues to burn, even in the rain.  
  
Batman can recall an inmate capable of creating such a concoction, the serial arsonist, Firefly. Apparently this particular brand of propellant is combustible to the touch. If he had tried to scale the building it would have certainly ignited, taking not only the inmates, but the staff and visitors as well. No, not this time, this time he shall be the one in peril, not those who are innocent. This time he'll be the target.  
  
Turning towards the jagged building that is Arkham's Asylum for the Criminally Insane he rises and steps towards it…  
  
TO BE CONTINUED…  
  
  
Add-On:  
  
Firstly, thanks for hanging around this long. Secondly, this beast is actually supposed to be a mystery, believe it or not, and next chapter we'll be discovering who the master schemer behind all this chaotic fun is. So what follows is a brief list of suspects and a short snippet regarding each. I'm certain many of you will have deduced the identity of our antagonist by now, but hey, some of us don't have a clue (like me, which is sad because I'm supposed to be writing this thing). Enjoy:  
  
Riddler – Our current prime suspect, with good reason.  
Shaftie – Supposedly the subordinate, it could always be vice-versa. What, he's dead? How do you kill something that can survive a decapitation?  
Scarecrow – Our resident master of fear certainly has the intellect to pull this off, and the wherewithal to stay in the shadows until his plan is complete.  
Ra's al Ghul – Claimed little interest in Gotham and then covers several key events that happened in that city. Still, would he so adamantly claim ignorance on Harley's revival if he were behind it? What, he's dead too? He's freaking immortal! He's been stabbed, shot, maimed, incinerated to dust, and whatever over the course of his career and each time he's back for more!  
Joker – Great, another corpse. Of course these are comic book characters, and if Harley can be resurrected, so can the clown prince of crime. Plus, he did once possess a cache of the Hatter's devices that were used on Two-Face and Penguin.  
Mad Hatter – Well, he's dead too, and judging by the list that cinches his inclusion. Besides, it's his toys that are being used.  
Dr. Jeremiah Arkham – Remember him from waayyy back (Ch. 3)? Perhaps he's finally snapped just like his patients, but then again, he was scratching his head when Bullock paid a visit, almost jumping at the chance to incriminate Two-Face. Maybe he's just got dandruff?  
Talia's 'He Who Is Loyal' – We never even saw him; don't know his motives, or much else. Still, he likely had good access to Ra's' resources and it would be possible for him to have employed a lackey to mediate his plan in Gotham. And hey, if he was stuck on Ra's' island fortress as it sank he'd definitely be a corpse right now, and that guarantees his entry. 


	12. Intersection

Chapter 12: Intersection  
  
The Story Thus Far: Gotham is caught in the grip of a massive attack of induced fear a la the Scarecrow; Harley and Beal have discovered the Batcave's museum of trophies and take a tour, learning something along the way; Bruce has donned the Batman costume and is about to leave the cave when Ivy intercepts him and provides a kiss "for luck." He exits and Ivy hopes he'll return. Harley isn't as optimistic; Batman finds Gotham in utter chaos. Upon reaching the asylum he also finds the Commissioner, who manages to provide some information regarding possible suspects in-between bouts of delirium. Batman discovers that the asylum roof is covered in a flammable solution that ignites upon prolonged contact, which means if he tries a rooftop entry he'd light up the entire building, along with the inmates and staff inside. He's determined that no more innocent lives will suffer because of him so he opts to make himself the target…  
…  
  
A grimly resolute masked manhunter strides across the rain slicked walkway towards ancient wooden doors that mark the entrance into Arkham's Asylum for the Criminally Insane. He kneels down upon reaching his target and scrutinizes the door locking mechanisms as closely as possible, before realizing how unnecessary it is. Gloved hands push forth on the oaken doors in unison and they yield to gentle pressure, opening silently on greased hinges. They are unlocked and inviting.  
  
The Batman enters the front hallway and pauses, his silhouette marked by the occasional burst of lighting from outside. The entire building is unlit save for the intermittent blinking of emergency lights. Arkham has its own source of power in case of emergencies, so to come across it in such a state would suggest one of two things: Either there has been a cataclysmic upheaval, which is unlikely given its currently unnatural calm, or the power has been shunted elsewhere…  
  
"Transmitter," grumbles the dark knight as he turns towards the cell ward. He knows this building all too well, like if it were a second home. To reach his goal he must pass through the nest of prisoners and climb…  
  
Making his way through the darkened hallway the dark knight is given a moment to wonder what his adversary has done with the staff. Normally this stretch of the asylum would be abuzz with activity at this time of day, only now he's the only soul present. His mind then turns to thoughts of what may have been, playing possible scenarios for each hapless victim. This raises his ire and he shunts it aside, a reserve to call upon if required.  
  
His first leg soon completed Batman returns his focus to the task at hand, surveying the cell ward. This portion of the asylum is also devoid of power, battery operated emergency lights are its only means of illumination. He slowly makes his way through the hall, acknowledging each name engraved on the cage door. Fortunately Arkham still employs manual locks as a failsafe and each deadbolt is securely in place.  
  
Each name etched upon the cells is familiar and provides bitter memories. Dent, who came to him for aid, and was left on his own because of a damnable quest that was urged on by the master schemer; Cobblepot, a pawn of this whole sordid affair though he never realized it. Then he comes upon the door labelled Crane and he pauses. He cautiously opens the observation window. Jonathan Crane, the tall, lanky master of fear better known as the Scarecrow simply stands there, unmoving like his namesake. Batman shuts the window. His curiosity piqued the Batman chooses another door at random and moves towards it. This time the label reads Waylon Jones and once more he opens the observation window, only to be greeted with the same still, silent response.  
  
He crosses the hallway and tries the window labelled Nygma. This time he calls into the cell as well, "Edward!"  
  
A hollow rasp of a voice yells back, "No!"  
  
"Edward!"  
  
"NO!" he screams, coming into full view and falling on his knees. He struggles vainly against his straightjacket bonds, "I will NOT be controlled!"  
  
"Riddler!"  
  
Edward Nygma turns and looks at the face of his oldest enemy. His eyes are sunken and filled with emptiness; his mouth is curved in a malicious grin, "Hello! A contestant! And what's your name young man?"  
  
There is no reply.  
  
"No matter! No matter!" he chortles in a high-pitched whine as he runs up to the door, "You can still answer the riddle! The riddle, yes, the riddle! When is a man dead on, but not what he appears to be? Answer!"  
  
"When he's a decoy," Batman answers.  
  
The Riddler jumps up and down excitedly upon hearing the words, "Exactly! A decoy is placed dead on target, but he is not THE target! Excellent! You've earned a prize!" And the Riddler smashes through his cell door with a thunderous kick, sending the Batman back against the far wall in a daze. He then bursts his bonds as if they were nothing and lunges in for the kill. Batman manages to recover in time and sidesteps the enraged quizmaster. He then desperately reaches for the stun gun in his utility belt and fires. Twin prongs burst forth in an explosive blast and embed themselves within the Riddler's flesh. Their leads then shine a striking blue hue as thousands of volts of electricity travel into their prey's sinews. The aroma of burnt flesh permeates the air as the Riddler collapses in a heap. Batman switches off the gun and encroaches upon his unconscious foe. Gently he rubs atop the Riddler's scalp, feeling a tiny, irregular bump that should not be there.  
  
"Mind control," he whispers before turning to continue his trek. The doors then shudder and vibrate all around him as each inmate pounds and wails upon them. They've been roused from their induced state of rest and been instructed to crave a single thing…blood…the blood beyond their door…the blood of the Batman! He knows that nothing in his arsenal can possibly fend them all off so he runs like a man possessed, past clawing arms, past gnashing teeth and to a security door at the end of the hall. Without power it easily slides open, evidently a more modern addition to the asylum. He turns and watches the horde charge towards them, their eyes showing more beast than man. With a heave he shuts the door and with lightning reflexes he removes his grapple, unwinds a length of his silken cord and uses it to bind the door handles together. He then continues his run and does the same with the next set of doors and so forth until he reaches the stairs. He pauses to gather his bearings and his breath.  
  
"No escape," is all he says as he turns to start the arduous climb to the asylum's very apex, "and no retreat."  
  
The ascent is uneventful, marked only by the sounds of rickety wooden steps creaking under the Batman's boot heel. There is no reason for stealth, he was expected, and he'll simply have to bypass this gauntlet as best he can. Upon reaching the top he pauses and nudges on the door before him. Beyond the archway is a small room, modestly furnished, a raging fireplace located in the far wall with a large chair facing it, its back turned to the Batman. Next to the chair is a small tea set and a hand lying nonchalantly upon the table as it grips a steaming cup. Batman makes his way towards the chair, making nary a sound as he reaches for his utility belt under the cover of his cape. As he approaches the hand recoils out of sight and a voice calls, "Do come closer to the fire, you must be chilled to the bone, what with the weather outside…"  
  
Batman instinctively removes a batarang and hurls it forward. It ricochets off the mantle and into the chair, sure to strike anyone sitting there. He then flies forward and whirls the seat about to find his weapon, and nothing else.  
  
Puzzled, the dark knight reaches for his weapon and feels a sharp pinching sensation upon the palm of his hand. He pulls it back and watches in amazement as a small, pointed blade melds back into the seat cushion, a weapon that mere moments ago was sharp enough to cleave through armour and flesh, drawing blood. The batarang soon follows suit, dropping into the seat like it were quicksand. Batman could feel his head become heavy and his muscles spasm. He falls to his knees, frozen, the drug tipped blade having done its work. The batarang then flies forth from the chair's edifice, careening off the Batman's face it draws even more blood. He doesn't move. He can only watch as a gruesome grin forms on the chair's seat-cushion, smiling its approval. The chair then transmogrifies before his very eyes into a black clad creature with a blade in each hand and blood red eyes, its features masked by cloth. The Shaftie.  
  
"Clayface," Batman manages through great force of will, the drug permitting him to speak, barely. In response the creature turns from black to brown, its cloth coverings now an oozing, muddy mess, like raw clay before it enters the fire.  
  
"And your master?" Batman asks in great difficulty. Clayface points at a far door and the knob turns, as if on cue. It opens to reveal a near diminutive man dressed in a long green trench coat with a large blue top hat on his blond head and a playing card of 10/6 tucked on its side. His white gloved hands are twitching anxiously against each other as he shakes his head disapprovingly, "Please, master is so formal; you know I prefer The Mad Hatter!"  
  
TO BE CONTINUED… 


	13. Moving Day

Chapter 13: Moving Day  
  
"To summarise the situation, it is as thus. You are at my mercy, inoculated with a paralysis inducing concoction whose recipe has been…procured from one of the fine inmates of this asylum. You have been misled, assaulted, vexed, tested and tried in order to reach this place, which you now hope to escape. Let me make it clear, you will not escape…you will die. Welcome to the tea party."  
  
The Mad Hatter gestures and Clayface transforms himself into a sturdy chair, landing adjacent to the small table and tea set by the fireplace. The Hatter fluffs his green trench coat before assuming a seat. He reaches for the tea cup and with pinkie extended takes cup to lips and sips accordingly. His eyes then re-fix their gaze upon the paralyzed Batman, "Ah…a Wonderful elixir." He arcs his head and puts his hand to his ear, "Can you hear them? The writhing, screaming, tortured masses outside, crying for help? Your city is dying, and soon you shall join it."  
  
The Hatter frowns at Batman's silence and tosses the empty cup at the crusader's skull, shattering it upon the cowl's armour. He then giggles stupidly, "You see how simple it is? I would have turned your fair burg into a Wonderful utopia had you not interfered. Now you must pay for your folly. Granted the water supply had been under intensive scrutiny since our last encounter, but Clayface took care of that problem. Mix in a pinch of Scarecrow's secret sauce with my mental inducers and voila, mass hysteria!"  
  
The Hatter pauses and is met by Batman's silence yet again. Annoyed, the Hatter continues, "He's really quite remarkable, you know," the Hatter comments coolly as he pats the arms of the chair, "Even though he lost his muse when it comes to human anatomy after I placed him under my control, he can still perform an excellent March Hare." The Hatter winks as he rises from the seat, "Here, let me show you."  
  
The chair then bends and folds, moves and churns into a dark haired caricature of a rabbit, wearing a red coat and loony expression. The Hatter is in awe, "Wonderful. No other word can do it justice. Can you imagine?" the Hatter questions as he takes a brief glimpse of the Batman, "A thespian of such quality, shunned? It's a crime. Still, there are plenty of other cities to try, aren't there?" he ruffles the top of the hare's head, "Plenty more chances at Wonderland…"  
  
"You're looking very good," Batman mutters as best as possible, the drug permitting only limited speaking skills, "for a dead man."  
  
"What?" the Hatter turns with a start. The Batman is still rooted to the spot so the Hatter smiles perversely, "Oh yes, my ill advised team-up with the Joker. Well, I got better."  
  
"Ra's al Ghul," Batman sputters.  
  
The Hatter's ears perk up at the sound of the name, "Yes, that's right. Mr. Rash-a-Goo, or something," the Hatter giggles, "never could get the name right. See, Mr. Rash had a problem which only I could properly solve. Mr. Rash had an elixir of immortality in his possession, so he had me ferreted out of my coffin and revived, and upon my reanimation I added to his elixir my mind numbing potion. The result was an army of near perfect, immortal and completely loyal slaves, just what he had ordered, no fuss, no muss. I, of course, appropriated all I could during my stay, including some of the elixir, and used my formidable talents to make sure I lived beyond the expiration of our agreement. After all, giant transmitters and grand schemes of revenge don't fund themselves. Upon returning to Gotham I secured the asylum and had Clayface inoculate Ms. Quinzel with the elixir during her hospital stay, knowing you'd investigate sooner or later, sending you on a chase for the White Rabbit while I completed my plans."  
  
The Batman grins, "You've made one mistake, Tetch."  
  
"Oh?" the Hatter marks with an innocuous look on his face.  
  
"Dent."  
  
"You had your White Rabbit, and the police had theirs," the Mad Hatter replies dryly, "He was a decoy, nothing more."  
  
"He helped the police."  
  
"Only briefly," the Hatter answers in a huff.  
  
"He saved the Commissioner's life."  
  
"A minor glitch," an irritated Hatter sneers, "I didn't really want the kill Gordon anyway."  
  
"He was leading them here…"  
  
The Mad Hatter screams, "Now really! That is too much! I have shown you courtesy and hospitality, the least you could do is shut-your-damned-mouth in regards to HIM! I understand the executed is to have a last request, but this is above and beyond! Dent? Dent was a…a constant burden, like you are! He wouldn't eat his tainted meals, he would always sleep with one eye open and he'd dissociate himself from the inmates as much as possible! It…it was uncanny, like he had a sixth sense telling him something was amiss, so I had the Penguin approach him, and when his guard was down the Riddler fixed him and I sent him away! AWAY I SAY! He wasn't to be trusted and I sent him AWAY!! AND THE FOOL STILL MANAGED TO REMOVE THE CHIP!!! He was insufferable, just as you are!" The Hatter feigns a fainting spell and Clayface catches him, becoming a comfortable chair in the process.  
  
The Hatter takes a deep breath to calm himself as he reaches into his coat pocket, "It's quite liberating, being deceased, as you'll soon find out," the Hatter produces a small revolver from his pocket and aims it squarely at the Batman's skull, "Armour piercing. Now here we are…to paint the roses red…" and he begins to squeeze the trigger.  
  
The gun explodes and at the last second Batman moves his head to one side and out of the bullet's path. He then drives forward and snatches the gun from the Hatter with one hand and smashes him in the face with the other before a second shot can be fired. The chair falls back and Clayface transforms into a slick slide leading through the door, which the stunned Mad Hatter glides upon thanks to the momentum of Batman's single blow. Once the Hatter is through Clayface immediately follows, slithering his form away and slamming the door shut behind him.  
  
Batman takes a moment to ease his muscles back from the paralysis they had suffered, giving him a chance to remember Ivy's kiss. She could kill with a kiss, but this time she… she's… she's so…  
  
He shakes his head to rouse his senses back. She must have transferred a portion of her immunity to him. How? He cannot fathom, but it's the only explanation.  
  
He takes a long look at the gun in his hand and shudders before placing it into his utility belt. With a leap and a kick he smashes through the door his prey had passed, a hail of splinters announcing his arrival. The greeting is another dimly lit, sparsely furnished room.  
  
"Where am I, Batman?" a voice like slime and ooze calls from nowhere and everywhere at once, echoing off the walls. Batman instinctively reaches for his utility belt as the creature continues, "Am I the chair? The mantle? Maybe I'm the rug you're standing on? Or the chandelier? What am I, Batman?"  
  
Batman crouches down into a defensive stance.  
  
"You'll never guess," the creature calls, and the entire room comes crashing down upon the caped crusader, enveloping him in an ever shrinking bubble of ooze. With a single fluid motion Batman draws forth an ice gun from his belt and cranks it to full as his clay tomb is sealed. Bracing himself, he grabs hold of the weapon with both hands and fires at the clay as it advances all about him. He does not budge, continuing the relentless assault as brown ooze begins to flow upon him. His hands, though insulated, start to feel the icy chill as frost begins to envelope them. His face, his entire body for that matter, could feel the chill build, but so could Clayface. Soon the creature is still and the Batman stops the onslaught. About the dark knight is clay with ice crystals jutting forth every which-way, making for a very fragile creature. With a mighty effort he pushes his legs forth, feeling the frozen clay crack under the pressure, and with the second effort it shatters into a cold shower, littering the room in fragments. He does not have the time to savour his victory, however, since his gloves are fused together in a large shroud of ice that's rock hard at the source. Batman lies down on his back and uses his legs to push the gloves off, inch by painful inch. Near frostbitten fingers soon emerge and he winces in pain at their sight. With a scowl on his face he takes the ice chunk his hands were trapped in and kicks it into the fire, dousing the flame. The feeling barely returned to his fingers he gingerly clasps the gun in his utility belt and looks about the room. There doesn't appear to be another exit in sight and no clues in regards to the Hatter's escape route. Nothing…save for a large looking glass lying adjacent to the far wall.  
  
Batman scans the outline of the mirror, feeling as best he can its edges with his fingers, and comes to the conclusion that it is an entranceway. He taps it gently and listens to the depth of the sound that emanates.  
  
"Not too deep," he muses as he looks about at Clayface's frozen remnants, "but likely a trap." Spying what he needs he grabs hold of a large, pointed fragment. Lifting it up he takes a few steps back and raises it high above his head, the pointed end aimed towards the mirror, "Through the looking glass, Alice." After taking a deep breath he hurls the projectile with all his might, smashing it into the mirror and shattering the edifice into millions of jagged shards.  
  
Beyond the mirror the Mad Hatter was standing within a tiny abode next to a large, complex looking computer panel with wires leading out of a nearby window and up to the roof, and the neural transmitter. The Hatter was busily at work on his instruments, but upon hearing the nearby destruction he turns with a start. Batman rushes into the room before the Hatter has a chance to react and draws his gun forth from the utility belt, prompting a very frightened Hatter to whimper, "Don't…don't come any closer! I'm warning you!"  
  
Batman takes the measure of the room and a grim smile forms upon his lips.  
  
"I'm warning…warning you! I've reconfigured the system! They'll…they'll all perish immediately if you harm me! They'll…"  
  
Batman merely raises his arm and unloads the gun into the computer. Sparks fly and pieces shatter as each slug hits home. The entire console flickers for a moment, then dies altogether. Batman then tosses the gun away and sneers, "You never were very good under pressure, Jervis."  
  
The Hatter is beside himself, "What…what are you going to do?"  
  
"I've always liked the Queen of Hearts," Batman mutters in his characteristic gravel like voice as he reaches into his utility belt.  
  
The Hatter has only one response. He screams an ear piercing, gut wrenching, maddening scream and turns, leaping through the closed window behind him. Batman removes the batarang with line which he was reaching for and makes it to the edge before the final splinter of glass has fallen. It takes precious milliseconds for him to adjust his grip with his frozen fingers, and even more for his eye to correct for the rain swept air, so instead he listens to the Hatter's scream and lets the batarang fly. Guided by unknown forces of fate the weapon manages to enwrap itself about one of the Hatter's legs and Batman pulls it taunt. His fingers are still badly sore, however, and at best he can only slow the Hatters descent to the stone ground below. There is a sickening thud as bone strikes stone, knocking the Hatter senseless. Batman stares down and sees a man writhing in agony, but alive, and he breathes a sigh of relief.  
  
"You couldn't know Jervis," he whispers, "I was given a new life…and I'm going to live it right…" and he's gone with a flash of lightning and a crackle of thunder…  
  
…  
  
Later that day, once the police had arisen from their stupor and reclaimed the asylum from its dazed denizens, the city of Gotham begins the arduous task of remaking itself once again. Within the cruiser where the Batman had left him, the Commissioner finds a note that fills in the details on the entire case, and on what may be the best way to proceed. Det. Bullock harrumphs at the site of it before being assigned to do exactly what the note entails, leaving the Commissioner alone to whisper a subtle, "Thank-you."  
  
Out of the corner of his eye he manages to spy a familiar silhouette upon one of the rooftops before it vanishes from sight and he knows, deep down, that everything will be alright.  
  
…  
  
Eventually Batgirl decides to return to the cave beneath the ruins of Wayne Manor, having witnessed to her satisfaction Gotham's metamorphosis from chaos to calm. Her sleek motorcycle hums near silently as she navigates the roadway at full throttle. Her mind is awash with possible scenarios as she wonders what will be awaiting her. Her wound is still fresh and sore, and already she could feel the surgeon's handiwork begin to unravel. Whatever may be there, she hopes it is not conflict.  
  
The cave lights burst on upon recognizing their newest master's arrival, and she winces in pain as she dismounts. She pauses for a moment and gauges her surroundings for anything amiss. There is nothing, not another soul in sight, not a sound save the flapping of leathery wings high above.  
  
She accepts his decision and makes her way to the infirmary, hoping her doctoring skills are enough. Upon arriving she spies a tiny package on one of the tables and a note. The package contains a futuristic device used by the Justice League to painlessly cauterize wounds, and the note contains words that make her smile…  
  
…  
  
A scant week later and the weather has undergone a startling transformation. A stark cold front has moved into the city, bringing with it a change from rain to snow. Many of the city's citizens welcome the kiss of winter, seeing the clean, white layer as a blank slate, allowing them to forget recent misdeeds. For others it's a harbinger of how we are so susceptible to rapid, unwanted fluctuation, a reminder that no matter how hard we try to control it, life has a way of following its own path. The Commissioner of Gotham's police force would fall to the latter as he stands within the cemetery, staring at its most recent addition. While he is lost in thought, he is not so far-gone that he doesn't notice the approach of a heavy set man.  
  
The Commissioner pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and shoves his cold hands in his pocket, "Harvey."  
  
The unshaven and unkempt man tips his hat, "Commish."  
  
"What brings you by?"  
  
Det. Harvey Bullock doesn't answer, choosing to bend down and drop a single flower upon the grave. He grunts as he rises, "Who's he next to?"  
  
Gordon manages a weak smile, "His future wife."  
  
They stand in silence for a few moments before Bullock offers a warm coffee. Gordon reluctantly accepts and they head off to a nearby diner, walking among the tombstones.  
  
"We've got most of the chips out of the inmates, and the water systems been re-purified," Bullock remarks as they walk, "so there shouldn't be any more problems. I think things'll be back to normal inside another week."  
  
"That's good," Gordon remarks, slightly distracted, "Good to hear."  
  
Bullock stays silent for a moment before continuing, "The Hatter's still out of it though. Man the Bat must've clocked him…"  
  
"Uh huh," Gordon nods, still distracted.  
  
"Look, Commish," Bullock calls out, stopping mid-stride. Gordon turns to face him, "About the Bat. I just wanted to tell you to your face…" his mood softens as he searches for the words, "…you know…he was there, when it mattered …again… despite my bellyaching, he always does the job. And the kid he trained, Batgirl, if it weren't for her we'd be permanent residents here. Look…what I'm trying to say…what I'm getting at…I'm…"  
  
Gordon gives a slight nod as he wraps an arm around the shoulder of his sulking officer, "I'm glad to hear it Bull, I really am. You know, I've only got a few good years left, and they've asked me to pick someone to groom for the job…"  
  
END  
  
Thanks for sticking around to the end. I hope you enjoyed the trip! 


End file.
